


I am NOT My Brother's Keeper

by CamTheThief



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Language, Magic, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot, Sex, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 105,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamTheThief/pseuds/CamTheThief
Summary: Harry Evans wasn't special. He was just another orphan trying to survive. Everything changed when a mysterious woman told him that magic was real - confirming that which he had always hoped for but never dared to believe. He's not the Boy-Who-Lived. He's not a hero. He's just a pleasure-seeking teen with money, drive, and the spirit for adventure. Hogwarts is going to be fun.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, TBD - Relationship
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say that I consider fanfiction to be a fun hobby. That's it. I enjoy and appreciate the magnificent literary works some have been able to write as fanfiction, but my aspirations are not nearly as high. I'm just a college student that enjoys reading and writing fanfics when I want to have a bit of fun in a creative world. I wrote this months ago, edited it for maybe a grand total of 25 minutes, and that was all. It's rough, I know. The following chapters likely will be as well. Feel free to review and tell me as much. Just know that fanfiction isn't something I stress about or take seriously, it's a way to blow off some steam - my literary playground if you will. I think of a concept that sounds fun and voila, it's in my story. There's no outlining or process of creation, this story is just me having fun on the keyboard while I down hard seltzers and nurse my tea. So please, enjoy my little creation or loathe it entirely - but for the love of god I beg you to not go into this story expecting a literary masterpiece, because it's not one.

_“I just want more from life, you know? I always try to meet interesting people and do fun things, but it feels like something is missing. I guess I'm worried that I'll never figure out what that missing thing is.” -Harry Evans to his friend Maya, on a rooftop in London, July, 1990._

**Chapter 1:**

Green eyes fluttered open, the warmth of the July sun's rays beating down up them. A hand reached up in an effort to shield the momentarily sensitive orbs, the small groan that escaped his lips suggesting that his efforts were for naught.

He let his arm fall over his eyes, seeking the darkness that would perhaps allow Morpheus to claim him once more. Five minutes later, without any sign of the Greek god coming to his rescue, the boy moved his arm. The waking world beckoned and he was once more apart of it.

He had expected his eyes to be greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling; waking up in strange places tended to be a common occurrence during summer. Blue skies and white clouds were a bit different. He sat up to take better stock of his surroundings.

His brain (which had slowly but surely reached a state of awareness) immediately discerned that he was still in London. Regardless of anything else that was a definite positive. Waking up in Bedford had certainly been an interesting experience but once was enough. He was in London and his clothes weren't missing, all other details were tertiary when waking up with few memories of the previous night.

If he was one for dramatics he supposed he could be suspicious on whether or not he was surrounded by corpses or covered in blood, but his life had never been a movie before, no reason to start now.

There were six other bodies laying around him in various positions – and to satisfy the gods of fate, chance, and whatever else may exist just to mess with the lives of humans, they were breathing.

He let his gaze sweep the rooftop looking for... yep, things suddenly made sense. Bottles and cans were strewn around, some half full, some completely empty, but it didn't matter, because now he at least had an inkling of what had transpired. His haze of memories revealed that a friend had invited him to some kind of party and he never was one to turn down an invite. He remembered showing up at an apartment, drinks aplenty, some decent food all things considered, and drug paraphernalia at the very least. Most definitely an apartment and not a roof.

The memories became a blur and then ceased to exist altogether. He didn't know how he'd ended up on the roof. He looked around at the still slumbering individuals and realized he didn't know where his friend was either. Though if he was being entirely honest he didn't care where his friend was, the guy could handle himself just fine.

He extracted himself from the mess of blankets he'd been laying upon, ungracefully rose to his feet, and promptly regretted ever waking. The headache that suddenly chose to manifest itself served as a harsh reminder that despite not having memories of what exactly transpired, the previous night certainly did happen.

He pulled out his sunglasses and a packet of cigarettes, he lit the fag and stumbled over to the railing of the fire-escape. It wasn't a particularly tall building he found himself upon, the height did allow for a startlingly picturesque view of London as it glistened in the mid morning sun. He exhaled a large puff of smoke as he started down the stairs. He couldn't help the small smile that hit his lips as he descended, he really was quite fond of this city.

Upon reaching the ground he sought out the nearest reflective surface available. If he could avoid looking like a complete slob on his way back home, he would. It didn't take long for him to locate a window suitable for the task he had in mind.

His almost shoulder length black hair was still as wild as ever. A rat's nest it most certainly was not, but he'd be damned if his hair wasn't waging a personal war on the laws of physics. A simple but moderately thick silver hoop adorned each ear. His black boots were heavily worn, but still in good condition.

He sported a pair of slim dark navy jeans that were frayed and had a few rips and tears but were otherwise free of mud and stains. A simple black t-shirt worn underneath his green and black flannel shirt completed his look. He was a bit disheveled, and could no doubt go for a shower and some mouthwash, but on the whole, he thought he looked pretty good.

Those who knew him would call this “his look.” He certainly didn't own it by any means, but he was rarely seen dressed in any other manner. His entire wardrobe consisted of different colors of the pieces he currently wore.

Were it colder he'd be wearing his sheepskin coat everywhere. A most unique piece to be sure, it was black with gray fur and hung down to lower thigh. The moment he'd seen it among the peddler's wares he knew he had to have it. His savings had taken quite the hit but he'd never regretted his decision.

He turned away from his makeshift mirror with one more glance and a lopsided grin on his face. The trek back home took almost an hour, not bad timing given just how far he had walked. It certainly paid to know shortcuts, cutting through an alley here, hopping a fence there. The bus he'd managed to catch helped too.

Rounding the corner he came upon “home”, or the nearest thing he had to it at least. From what he had gathered over the years the buildings had once been a series of Georgian terraced houses that had been converted into one big housing project.

Bless Bethany Morrison's soul. The woman's husband had died in the Korean War. She was young at the time. Only 19 years old and told that her husband died fighting a war god knows where for god knows what. She was too young to be a widow. Beth Morrison wasn't one to bemoan her circumstances though. With financial backing from both her uncle and her late husband's elder brother, the young widow started helping the orphans of Britain. Still only eight years following the end of World War II there were certainly more than enough kids in desperate need of help.

Fast forward 39 years and the still young if asked Bethany is a foster parent to as many kids as legally allowed. The rules may have changed over the years but her heart had not. She never remarried despite numerous offers. She never had kids of her own. Though, if you ask her, she'll vehemently disagree with the latter statement.

Currently there were eight other youths under her care. While he was the oldest now that hadn't always been the case. He'd seen a dozen or so individuals hit their mid-teen years and decide to leave. Never with any malice or lingering sense of malcontent- everyone knew Bethany cared for them. At a certain age most just came to realize that Bethany raised kids, and while not necessarily adults, they weren't kids anymore.

The young ones that were just starting school, the ones that were in need a parental figure that cared, those were the kids that needed her attention and affection. Far more so than the older and far more cynical youths that had seen one too many realities that the world had to offer.

So, eventually they leave. Most didn't appear to have a plan in place or even an idea of where they should go. Whether intentional or not, those under Beth's care seemed to be headstrong if nothing else. Harry had a running bet that it was intentional. Beth always seemed to encourage action; to do something rather than languish away.

So maybe Beth was the reason behind why the youths under her care struck out into the world at such young ages. It certainly wasn't always smart for them to do so, but Beth never fought back on that front. Sure, she teared up at goodbyes, but tell someone not to go? Never. Did that make her a bad parent? Most likely. No one could hold it against her though, she'd never once claimed to be a parent.

He knew his day was approaching. It was why he didn't always come home in the evenings. It was why he carefully budgeted the money he managed to acquire for himself. For some day soon he'd sling a bag over his shoulder, kiss Beth on the cheek, and wave goodbye to the only “home” he had.

He would finish school, of course. Most of the others had at least continued until they were 16 as was the law, but he wanted to actually _finish_ his education. School wasn't exactly hard for him. He didn't lay claim to being a genius, he just had a good memory.

His teachers informed him that University wasn't out the question but he had his doubts. University required money, a lot of money. Day to day spending cash he had. Tuition was a bit out of his price range.

He made his way into the home where the scent of bacon and eggs greeted him. It wasn't fresh at this point but the lingering smell set his stomach off regardless. When he found the kitchen clean and devoid of children he finally cast a glance towards the clock. It was later than he thought...

He shrugged and made his way towards the fridge, pulling out the eggs, cheese, and bread for himself. After a brief search he also located the tomatoes. No stranger to the kitchen, after a few minutes he had a pleasant breakfast sandwich made and the dishes he used cleaned and put away.

Though his food turned out to be rather delightful, the cold glass of water and aspirin proved the saviors of his morning. He could have gone back to bed. Hell, he probably should have given how little sleep he likely got. Turns out mother earth would provide him the perfect excuse. The sun shining through the window was warm, the chair with a cushion comfortable, and the liquid he sipped oh so refreshing. He didn't even try to fight his eyelids as they closed and who could blame him?

He was understandably cross when his serenity was shattered by the sound of someone entering the kitchen. He mentally cursed whichever being realized he was at peace and chose to ruin it.  
“Oh, hey Harry!”

His annoyance receded upon hearing the voice that had infringed his content state. He opened his eyes to catch sight of a girl putting water on to boil. Fourteen years old, long brown hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, roughly 150 cm tall, and short though she was the rest of her body was certainly developing. The girl was exceedingly cute and pretty soon she'd be too cute for her own good. And she knew it.

“Sarah,” Harry's own lips quirked into a small smile as he greeted the girl. They'd known one another almost four years now. He liked the girl, and as far as he could tell, she liked him. Of everyone he considered himself to be close to, she knew him the best. 

“So, where were you last night? No, wait. Let me guess... Ashley, right? Her parents don't lock their liquor cabinet and you definitely smell like booze.” Her inquiry was made while still standing next to the stove and Harry almost grimaced. He definitely needed that shower and mouthwash.

“Jealous?” He asked, his small smile morphing into a cocksure grin.

She sent him a deadpan look that left no doubt as to what she thought of his question. “Oh yes, Harry, I am very jealous. I was up half the night wishing it was I in your arms instead.

Harry was impressed by the almost palpable level of sarcasm she managed to convey. He loved talking with this girl. She never failed to bring a smile to his face. The headache he still had pounding away had taken a backseat to his conversation with Sarah.

“Well don't be jealous of Ashley. I wasn't with a girl last night.” The eyebrow Sarah raised at him clearly conveyed her doubt at the truthfulness of his statement.

He reconsidered the previous night and continued on. “Rather, I don't _recall_ being with a girl last night. I woke up alone and all clothes where they should be, but there are quite a few hours missing.”

“Party?” Taking another sip of water he merely nodded. “Damn it, Harry! Why didn't you invite me?” The reproachful look he cast at her not did not dissuade her from her tirade in the slightest.

“You know I haven't been to a party since Summer started! I know you know because I told you about it the other day so what the hell?”

“Don't bitch at me just because I didn't extend a third-hand invite to some random party.”

The diminutive brunette proceeded to glare at him in response. “I'm not a bitch!”

Harry shrugged but otherwise ignored the remark. Only a few seconds had passed when he heard Sarah huff from across the room. “Whatever, but next time you're taking me with you, kay?”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I'm like a sister to you.”

“You're also a bitch.”

He definitely deserved the small towel she threw at his face. His laughter proceeded to draw out her own as she continued to prepare her tea. There was no heat to be found in their insults for one another. Harry was convinced their mutual slander was the basis for their bond. The back and forth between them wasn't always clever but it was theirs.

Sarah walked over and claimed the seat next to him, sharing the warmth of the sun as she stirred honey into her drink. “I've just been pretty bored recently, you know?”

He did know. It was the first summer they'd spent without Maya. She'd moved out to Surrey after leaving the house. They saw her occasionally, but the nights spent hanging around London with their “big sister” were in the past. “I miss Maya too.”

Sarah shrugged her shoulders, her eyes not leaving the slowly twirling liquid as she continued to stir. “Yeah, but you're you. You deal with this stuff a lot better than I do.”

Harry's protest barely reached conscious thought before he squashed it. They both knew he moved on quickly. He did miss everyone that left, but he also knew there was no point in getting hung up on their leaving. Move on or get left behind, as it were.

Harry pondered for a moment as Sarah stirred the honey into her warm drink. “Alright,” he said at last. “What do you say we do something fun tonight? You and me?”

She smiled at him over her cup. “What do you have in mind?”

“Cinema?” He had no clue what was playing at the moment but movies were always a safe bet for a good time. Even if they sucked you could laugh at them.

Sarah perked up at the suggestion. “Sounds fun, but you're buying me popcorn.”

Harry almost sighed on behalf of his wallet knowing the inevitable candy and drinks that would accompany Sarah's popcorn, but the genuine smile that lit up her face was reason enough to spend a few extra pounds.

**OoooOoooO**

Green eyes fluttered open once more in an effort to greet the new day. A familiar ceiling stared down at him this time around. Harry had always thought the pattern looked like it was glaring at him. Others that laid down in the bed said that he was crazy, he shrugged off their words and continued in his belief of the malevolent ceiling. If they couldn't see it then clearly the ceiling was glaring at _him_ exclusively.

Thus were the thoughts of a seven year old anyway. Harry realized now that his seven year old mind saw what it wanted to see just as everyone's did. To this day he wasn't entirely sure whether or not the perceived face was obvious and the others were just obstinate or if the inverse were true. Nor did he really care, either way the ceiling remained a ceiling. A familiar one at that.

He was in need of a shower and a fresh start to the day. At least it wasn't raining. Rain seemed to have a way of squashing his reasons to leave the house. Today though, today he was going to be productive. As productive as a jobless almost-sixteen year old during summer break could be anyway.

He'd had fun the previous two nights. He assumed as much about the party at least, and he definitely had a good time with Sarah. The movie wasn't great by any stretch of the imagination, but as it turns out getting kicked out of the cinema made for a more enjoyable experience than actually finishing the film. The long walk back home as they talked about nothing and everything all at once was just the icing on the cake. He really did like the girl.

His morning passed without incident and only two hours after awakening Harry found himself standing outside one of the many used book stores he liked to frequent. He'd buy a book on the verge of falling apart, he'd read it in a few days, then he'd sell it elsewhere. If no one was willing to buy he'd keep it. He usually only kept his favorites but he was wont to throw anything away.

His funds weren't expansive, but he could easily fit cheap books that were missing covers into his budget. Especially when he supplemented his supply by visiting Foyles. Bloody place was so big no one ever noticed him slipping titles into his coat.

So there he was, walking into Connor's dingy little shop with a worn copy of The Neverending Story gripped in one hand. He had enjoyed the book quite a lot. The characters mirrored one another just as the two halves of the narrative did. With such an imaginative world it was difficult to not become enraptured in the fantasy.

The Nothing though... whatever the hell that wasn't could stay the hell away from him. Harry tended to value his existence more than anything else, and the Nothing was anathema to that line of thought.

Harry walked into the small shop, the bell on the door alerting Connor to his presence. He didn't see the man behind the counter, but he was the owner and sole employee so it was a safe assumption that the man was in the building somewhere. More so than many of the other secondhand bookstores found around London, this little hovel appealed to Harry because most of the works strewn around the shelves were fantasy books. He'd read anything he could get his hands on, but the fantastical called to him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

He did read other genres, he'd gotten his hands on a number of the classics over the years: Alexandre Dumas' works were brilliant, he still thought Jane Austen was overrated, Shakespeare's plays whilst inspired really ought to be seen not read, and Lewis Carroll's most notable works proved to be as entertaining as they were mind boggling.

He even read some non-fiction, though he never purchased those books. He turned towards non-fiction when he had questions that needed to be answered, and as long as he didn't leave the local libraries with any of their books he was never questioned.

Eventually he made his way to the counter, a book in each hand. The shop's proprietor still no where to be seen. “Connor? You there, mate?” Harry dropped A Neverending Story on the counter and mentally shrugged. He knew Connor, the guy was probably on the piss again somewhere in the back. He wasn't about to complain about the easy opportunity; with his new book “The Magician” in hand, he walked right out of the store, back into the sunlight once more. Harry doubted the man would even notice that the book on the counter hadn't been his that morning.

Rather than returning home he made his way towards Southbank, the skate-park specifically. He had no real interest in skating but it was where people like him congregated, and so he went. Plenty of people that weren't at all like him also showed up at the famous space, but birds of a feather, as they say.

Harry lit another fag as he arrived at the skate-park. It was almost noon and there were no signs of rain, so plenty of other youths had already gathered. That would likely be the case even with rain. Situated under a bridge right next to the Thames, this concrete haven was as safe from the elements as you could get whilst still being outdoors.

Some eyes followed him as he claimed his usual spot. He was still quite pleased that he even had a recognized spot. Sit on the same ledge in a corner for over two years and people start to acknowledge it as yours. No one made any move to speak with him as he took a seat and began reading his new book. He occasionally let his eyes wonder over the people gathered. He knew almost all of their names but was only personally acquainted with a handful.

If someone wanted to talk with him, they'd make the first move. He wasn't antisocial by any means, but anyone who knew him would be able to say that he wasn't the most outgoing either. Besides, he'd actually opened a book this time rather than sit in the shade and call out to some of the more friendly faces scattered around. Harry could've gone anywhere if he wanted genuine peace and quiet, but he appreciated the hum of his peers engaging and acting like the teens they all were while he read. He took some ounce of comfort in not being a recluse that hid away. Most of the people that gathered here were like him, forgotten by the greater world as they just try and survive.

They were London's misbegotten youth and this spot was theirs. So they gathered to share cheap cigarettes, ask the older teens to buy them some booze, bitch about their parents, and swap stories of their plans to make it in this cold, cold world. Today though, Harry was content to let that be the background as he enjoyed his new book. It wasn't an overly complex tale by any means but it was entertaining. A single thought kept popping up throughout the early chapters... who in their right mind would ever name a kid “Pug”?

**OoooOoooO**

Only an hour had passed when a young boy's voice suddenly cut through his reading.

“HAAAAARRYYY!?”

An audible groan sounded from Harry's lips. He knew that voice all too well. Jim was a good kid, honestly he was. But by the gods he wouldn't know subtlety if it kicked him in the ass. Harry knew, he'd tried. Jim's ability to cause a scene where none needed to exist would be downright impressive if it wasn't so damn obnoxious.

There was no point in trying to hide. Harry rose from his surprisingly comfortable seat and walked over to the eager ten year old.

“Harry! Beth sent me to co-” Jim's explanation was cut short by Harry swatting him on the back of the head with his book.

“Ow! What was that for?” Jim looked up at the older boy with indignant eyes.  
“Yelling for no reason. We've talked about that. Numerous times now actually.”

Jim's mumbled reply was lost as the two began to walk back towards their home.

“Hm? Didn't catch that?”

“I said you still didn't need to hit me... jerk.” Jim's hand still rubbed the sight of the impact though his words lacked all hints of bitterness.

Harry smirked at the insult and chose to let it slide. He had already hit the brat. “How come Beth wants to see me?”

Jim perked up at the question. “Oh yeah! Well, some lady showed up and wanted to speak with you. Since you weren't at home Beth asked all of us if we knew where you were. I said I had an idea and ran off...”

Jim had to turn around as his words trailed off. Harry had abruptly stopped walking, an intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before.

“This woman- who is she?”

Jim frowned, his head slightly cocked to the side. “No idea. I didn't ask.”

Harry closed the distance between them and looked the younger boy directly in the eyes. “Is she a cop? Was there a cruiser out front?”

Jim's small frown turned into a nervous expression as he shook his head. “N-no. She didn't seem like one from what I saw. No car out front either.”

Harry stepped back from the boy but the intensity of his gaze didn't fade in the slightest. The reassurance of a ten year old meant almost nothing to Harry. If the woman was a cop what did she know? _How_ did she know what she did? Was she there to ask questions or make an arrest?

“Ah, fuck me sideways, goddamn it-” Harry bit off his string of curses as he stuck cigarette in his mouth. He'd have to return to the house to face the music. If she was a cop and he ran he might as well declare his guilt right to her face. Hopefully they were just there to ask questions and he could lie like there was no tomorrow. 

“What's the big deal? Why does it matter if she's a cop?” The small frown was still present on Jim's young features. Though the anxiety had fled, puzzlement had taken its place.

Harry turned an incredulous look to the ten year old as if to ask “are you serious?” The confusion on his face reminded Harry of just what sort of reaction he'd demonstrated to the kid. He barely held off _another_ string of curses as he quickly pondered how to explain away his behavior. Honesty was immediately discounted. Time to lie then. Like all good lies it would also have to be true. God what a day this was turning out to be.

Harry eased his expression as he leaned up against the nearby wall and took a long drag. “Sorry if I scared you Jim, it's just that cops... you don't want them asking about you, alright?”

Truth.

Jim moved to rest against the wall as well. “How come?”

Harry took another long drag as he considered just to what degree he wanted to poison the mind of a ten year old against law enforcement. “If they're asking about you it means one of two things: They either think you've broken the law, or they think you know about someone that broke the law and that you could've been involved.”

Some omitted details but otherwise still true.

Jim's eyes widened. “Neither of those sound great.”  
Harry hoped Beth never learned of this conversation. “Certainly not. Even if you're innocent the fact that they _think_ you've done something wrong means you're in for a veritable shit-storm of a time.

Hyperbolic, but not a lie.

Jim let out a small breath and looked up at Harry. “So you didn't break the law?”

Later on the kid would either hate Harry or think this was hilarious. Coin flip really. “Of course not, Jim. It's just that some of those people you saw at the skate-park have a reputation. I spend a lot of time down there and so the cops probably assumed I'm like those that do break the law.”

Lie.

Harry broke off from the wall and resumed walking with Jim trailing slightly behind. “So now you're in for a... shit-storm?”

Harry looked down at Jim and blinked slowly before an amused laugh sounded from his throat. It was full and sincere. _Oh god, this kid!_

Several seconds elapsed before Harry finally got himself under control. “If that woman is a cop, then definitely. Most definitely indeed.”

When they arrived back home Harry was surprised to see that Jim's observations had proved to be accurate. There weren't any police cars in the immediate vicinity. That didn't assuage all of his fears but it certainly eased the tension.

Harry sent Jim on his way once they stepped into the house. He was confident Jim wouldn't share their conversation with anyone. Most of the kids seemed to look up to Harry for some unholy reason he had yet to determine. It was _probably_ just because he was the oldest; but for all he knew they were conducting seances at night and it was the voices that told them to follow his example. Either way, Jim wouldn't spread the knowledge that cops were bad news. Hopefully.

“Beth? Someone wants to talk to me?” Harry's voice called into the house. Though there were half a dozen children at play he didn't have to shout. His voice was already fairly deep for his age so it tended to carry well.

Beth rounded the corner but a moment later. Her graying blonde hair fell loosely just above her shoulders, the warm smile on her face showing her laugh lines right next to her vivid blue eyes. Given her age and conscious decision to raise dozens of kids the woman looked fantastic. “Ah, Harry dear!”

She walked over, laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and began to guide him towards her study. The study that she only used for official business. If Beth didn't seem so unconcerned he would no doubt be planning how best to grab his bag from upstairs and flee the house. “I'm glad Jim knew right where to find you, I would've hated for her to have to come back tomorrow.”  
Harry stopped walking shortly before the hallway that led to the study. “Speaking of, who is this woman and why does she want to speak to me?”

Beth must have been able to discern something in his tone because the woman began to lightly laugh. “Relax, hon', you aren't in any trouble. I'll let her introduce herself but she's here to talk to you about school.”

Damn she was perceptive. He supposed that was what happened when you raised who knows how many kids and watched as each and every one went through puberty and a “rebellious phase”. Beth probably saw right through him and he'd never even noticed.

The mention of school mentally made him pause. It was the middle of summer and he always kept up his grades so what could this woman possibly want to speak with him about? _Unless Mrs. Hammon set something up?_ Harry knew that Mrs. Hammon wanted to see him go to University at some point. Was it possible she'd set up a meeting with some kind of scholarship official? Surely it was too early for that? Surely she would have told him?

Harry tended to avoid optimism in his life, but as he continued to run through reasons as to why a school official was meeting with him he gained a small measure of - dare he say it - hope.

Harry followed after Beth as she opened the study door. The room in question wasn't remotely ostentatious but nor was it spartan. An elegant mahogany desk dominated the room with bookshelves and cabinets lining the wall behind it. Two patterned guest chairs sat angled in front of the desk, Harry knew from experience they were surprisingly comfortable. The light in the room came from the two windows that took up the majority of the left-hand wall alongside the standing lamp in the corner of the room.

Harry's eyes flitted across the room only briefly before settling upon the woman that had rose from one of the chairs upon their arrival. The woman had rather pointed features complete with a narrow nose and high cheekbones. She had a stern but not unkind look on her face and her hair was pulled up into a neat bun. Dressed in a simple but elegant white blouse tucked into a modest blue skirt, small cylindrical glasses resting on her face, it really wasn't difficult to imagine this woman worked in education.

He was puzzled by her age, at first glance she seemed to be an attractive woman in her early forties, but the more he looked the more he was unsure. There were no wrinkles adorning her features but she was decidedly not young. In a way she appeared almost ageless, any guess he made would have a twenty year range involved.

“We found him!” Beth's voice broke him away from his assessment of the woman's appearance. “I'll just leave you all to it then. Feel free to come find me if you need anything.”

Harry waited for the door to close following Beth's exit to introduce himself but was beaten to the punch. “Harry Evans, I presume?” She said, stepping forward and extending her hand.

“Yes Ma'am, that's me.” He shook her hand and idly noticed the grace that seemed to accompany her movements alongside the Scottish accent.

“My name is Minerva McGonagall, I am a Professor and Deputy Headmistress at a prestigious boarding school in Scotland.”

Harry had to swallow the lump that formed in his throat at the woman's, no, the _Deputy Headmistress'_ introduction. He had never been fanatical about his education, but the fact that he was having a conversation that could very well change the trajectory of his life was not lost on him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, please, take a seat.”

She took the offered chair she had already risen from with a nod of thanks as he claimed his own seat next to her. He could feel his anticipation rising as she turned slightly to face him. She seemed to take pity on his mounting nervousness as a small smile eased her strict countenance. “Well Mister Evans, I imagine you're curious as to just why I'm here?”

Harry laughed lightly and nodded his head. _Don't fuck this up! Be respectful!_ “Yes Ma'am.”

If possible the Professor seemed to sit a bit straighter. “I'll be blunt then, Mister Evans. I am here to offer you a place at my school for the upcoming year and to discuss the circumstances surrounding your enrollment.”

Harry didn't even try and fight the large grin that formed on his face. Decorum be damned, assuming this wasn't a cruel joke or scam, the entire course of his life had just shifted. “Please tell me you're not joking, Ma'am?”

Her smile seemed to grow ever so slightly at the sight of his elation. “I assure you Mister Evans, this is no joke. While we have plenty of details to discuss, the offer of your attendance this Autumn is genuine.”

At that moment Harry couldn't have cared less about the details. A prestigious boarding school had reached out to him... his life wasn't doomed to become one of living on the streets and turning to crime. He'd always been a poor orphan just trying to get by, and now he might finally have a chance to reach for more... Grin still in place he made eye contact with the Professor once more. “I accept!”

With her own matronly smile still in place the Scottish woman nodded and pulled out a letter. “There are some details we have to go over first Mr Evans, but I think its best if we get the biggest concern out in the open first.”

Harry was still high on his own excitement when bemusement suddenly took center stage. The envelope was of a rather thick and distinctly yellow parchment. Far from what he would've expected a letter to be delivered in this day and age. It certainly wasn't worn or aged, but the make was unlike anything he'd seen. His confusion continued to rise when he read just how it was addressed...

Mr. H. Evans

The Third Bedroom on the Second Floor

552 Springfield Road

London

The only other marking on the envelope was a wax seal bearing a coat of arms featuring a large H and a number of different animals.

“I have a question for you, Mr Evans,” Harry's eyes looked away from the strange letter and met the Professor's own. “Have you ever seen something that you couldn't explain? Have you ever experienced something that didn't make sense? Done something with no idea of how?”

Harry's mind immediately went to the time that he'd fallen from a second story window and gently floated to the ground... an incident he'd dismissed as his own delusion. Or the time when he saw a woman seemingly vanish into thin air shortly after ducking into a side-street when she thought no one was looking... but surely he just missed when she took a turn?

Harry didn't know for how long he'd maintained his stunned silence until the Professor continued. “The world is larger than what you've been led to believe, Mr Evans. You've always known this but stubbornly tricked your own mind into seeing otherwise. The things you've done, the things that have happened to you weren't dreams or adrenaline-fueled delusions.”

Harry could feel his pulse racing even as he didn't move an inch. His gaze not breaking away from the woman who was turning his entire world upside down – or right side up, as it were. The heavy breaths Harry couldn't help but take were the only sound to permeate the quiet study; the expected noises of children playing and the bustle of Beth trying to wrangle them somehow not reaching into the room. His words, soft in tone, were only that much more pronounced.

“What are you saying, Professor?”

“Magic is real, Mr Evans – and you are a Wizard.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“Take a guess about what I'm owl ordering Mr Potter. I have yourself and Mr Black in detention with me every night for the next two weeks, of course it's a case of Ogden's Finest!”- Minerva McGonagall to James Potter, during the first detention of many, September 1970._

**Chapter 2:**

_Magic is real._

Three little words completely and irrevocably changed Harry's life. The world finally made sense. The greatest questions that had plagued his life now had answers. All it took was the impossible being in fact, possible.

He had no doubts that the woman who had shattered his world view was telling the truth. Others might have asked for a demonstration from the woman, demanding that their senses confirm her words. Harry didn't need anything of the sort. He _knew._ Her speaking those words to him had unveiled something intrinsic to his being, an irrefutable fact that he would never even dream of denying from here on out. Magic. Was. Real. The dozens of random and inexplicable events now had explanations. The feeling that he'd always had deep down, that there was more to the world than what he could see. That longing for that which he didn't know and didn't understand. The works of fantasy and intrigue he'd always inexplicably found himself drawn to.

_'If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.'_ In the recesses of his mind Harry laughed. He'd finally found his other world.

Harry sat stunned in his chair for what must have been minutes. Professor McGonagall was polite enough to give him this time in peace as his mind dealt with clarity for the first time. When he gained a hint of awareness once more he noted the slight look of amusement adorning her features. His reaction clearly wasn't a new experience for the woman.

“Do you need more time Mr Evans?”

Harry shook his head in the negative. “No, I'm good. Well, I think I am; it's a lot to take in.”

The ageless woman nodded along, seemingly sympathetic to his situation. “You are not the first individual I have had the pleasure to introduce to magic and you will not be the last, your reaction is not uncommon from what I've seen.”

Harry reached over to the letter opener Beth had on her desk and picked up the discarded letter he'd let slip from his fingers. “So what is this?”

“Your acceptance letter, Mr Evans. Go ahead and open it and I'll answer any questions you may have.”

Harry opened the thick envelope and pulled out two thick sheets of parchment from within and began reading.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Evans,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1 st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

To say that Harry had questions would be the understatement of a lifetime. Even with knowing magic was real, the letter in his hands was beyond confusing. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?” The words, while familiar to him, sounded foreign on his tongue.

“Yes Mr Evans, Hogwarts. I know the name doesn't inspire a great deal of confidence given the nomenclature you're familiar with, but I assure you it is the preeminent school for magical education in Europe.” Professor McGonagall spoke about this 'Hogwarts” with a mixture of fondness and pride from what Harry could tell. She was right though, the name itself was bizarre to say the least, absurd if he was being honest. Absurdity would be his new anthem if it meant he was given the chance to learn magic.

“Who is this... Albus Dumbledore?” Harry had to glance back down at the paper to ensure he got the name correct. “Obviously he's the headmaster but that's an impressive list of titles even if I haven't a clue what they mean.”

“Albus Dumbledore is in the simplest of terms a hero. A national hero more than anything, but also one respected on a global scale.” The Professor seemed to sit even straighter when talking about the man she worked directly underneath. “He's a war hero, a politician, magical researcher, and an educator all at once. You can look up the specifics of his titles at a later time but suffice to say, Albus Dumbledore is truly a one of a kind man, and one I am proud to know personally.”

Harry was surprised to hear the genuine passion in the woman's voice. He'd expected respect, but awe? He made a mental note to look into the man further as soon as he could, along with the multiple wars he'd apparently been involved in. Not that he'd expected otherwise, but learning that even magic didn't take away mankind's base desire to slaughter itself only minutes after learning about magic was a sobering experience.

Though Harry had more questions than he could possibly give voice to about magic the letter only left him with one more. “What does it mean 'we await your owl'? A term I'm unfamiliar with?”

“In our world we use magical owls to deliver letters or other small parcels,” she said.

Harry's gut instinct was to once again find the notion of relying on the effect simile of carrier pigeons utterly ridiculous. “And that's efficient?” He tried to hold the skepticism out from his voice but it was for naught.

“I know the non-magical world has made many advancements, Mr Evans. But I would encourage you to keep an open mind when stepping into the world of magic. Right now you are ignorant of its capabilities, of what is possible and not, you are a babe taking his first steps. Questions, I encourage you to ask. Judgment, I suggest you reserve until later.” Professor McGonagall censure was firm but not unkind. The educator in the woman had already shined through with her remarks. Well, if she wanted an inquisitive student he'd be happy to oblige.

“Apologies, Professor, you're right, it was hasty of me to judge.” _Message received Teach', don't apply standard logic to magic._ “How are owls the most efficient method of delivery?”

Professor McGonagall approval of his change in tone was evident by how enthusiastically she answered him. “Multiple reasons Mr Evan. For one they're frightfully intelligent creatures. All owls are of course, but the ones bred for use in delivery even more so. They can deliver a letter to anyone, anywhere. The conditions that you would imagine that would impact their ability to do so, such as weather or distance, never seem to matter. Give them a week at most and your letter will have arrived to whom you addressed it to.”

The answer, while satisfactory at a glance, only gave way to more questions. “You sound as if you don't understand how the magic of owls works?”

“That's because I don't, Mr Evans – in fact almost no one does, the guild of owl breeders guard their secrets closely. As is true of many branches of magic and many fields.” A wistful expression crossed her face as she spoke of guarded knowledge. “Hogwarts has much to teach you, even if we can't teach you everything.”

Harry had no desire to learn everything, he honestly didn't care how magical owls were bred, but he resolved then and there that if there was something he wished to learn, he would. Guarded secrets be damned.

“On the other sheet you'll find a list of your courses and necessary books and equipment for your first year.”

Harry glanced at the second sheet of paper and noted the long list of things he would need to purchase in order to attend. His slight grimace was immediately noticed by the woman seated next to him. “What's the problem, Mr Evans?”

_Gods above I hope they have scholarships or financial aid._ “It's the ah, books and equipment, Ma'am. That's a sizable list and I don't think I'll be able to afford them, not even counting the cost of actually attending your school...”

Harry expected the Deputy Headmistress to react with a familiar understanding when confronted with a student that had financial concerns. The woman instead had her own grimace that quickly took hold of her features. “Mr Evans, what I'm about to speak with you about isn't something I will be doing in the role of an educator, but instead as a family friend.”

There was an immediate change in Harry's demeanor. The polite and excited persona turned guarded and suspicious. “What 'family', Professor? Would that be the Dursleys?” The sheer venom in Harry's tone caused the woman to visibly appear taken back.

“No, Mr Evans. Your estranged aunt and uncle play no part in what I have to say.”

“Then who-?”

“Your parents.”

Harry's words of protest ceased before they left his tongue. His parents. Faceless entities, one of which he didn't even have a name for; he wished the emotions were less muted. “They died when I was one. Beth helped me inquire about a will with the Dursleys years ago, there was nothing. All I have is my mother's name.”

Professor McGonagall seemed stunned at his proclamation. “Only your mother's name?”

Try as he might Harry couldn't help the years of bitterness from coming out. Every orphan has scars, he was no exception. “Lily Evans, the name of my mother, the name of the woman who died when I was one, that's all I have.”

For the first time since he'd met the woman she seemed unsure of what to say. The mix of shock and grief present in her voice clued Harry in that she had an entirely different expectation for this meeting. “There's a lot I have to tell you Mr Evans, and if your reaction thus far is a judge you aren't going to like most of what I have to say.”

The moment the Professor mentioned his family Harry knew the conversation had taken a turn. For as long as he could remember he'd shoved aside the feelings he knew he had. The hatred for his aunt and uncle, the longing for his mother, the apathy for his father he didn't even know the name of. Every time he noticed them he buried them down deeper. Harry Evans didn't have parents. Harry Evans didn't have any blood relatives. It was easier that way, less painful. All it took was one woman to bring all those buried emotions back to the surface. One woman to share with him the parts of his life that he couldn't remember.

**OoooOoooO**

_“What are they talking about in there?”_

_“That woman is here to talk to Harry about school.”_

_“School? He's smart but I don't think he's ready for University.”_

_“No no, some kind of boarding school in the Scottish highlands.”_

_“Boarding school? Like Eton?”_

_“Something like that. I hope he's being respectful in there, this is quite the opportunity for him.”_

_“Yeah, I guess it is.”_

**OoooOoooO**

Minerva McGonagall barely registered the polite farewell she paid to Bethany Morrison as she left the house, her mind encapsulated by the long, sorrowful conversation she'd had with Harry Evans. Merlin, they had failed that boy. Her first impressions of him were so positive. He was polite, excited by the prospect of education, and the way his face brightened when he realized magic was in the world. He reminded her so much of Lily in that moment, it was impossible not to see that he was her late student's son.

The boy presented such a stark contrast when she started talking about his family. He was so cold after that. She knew that she'd have to explain a lot, she knew from the beginning that he wasn't going to be happy, but she'd expected a teenage boy to be angry or demand answers, instead all she saw was a bitter resignation. There were more emotions raging inside, of that she was certain, but Harry Evans kept them locked away.

Her contemplation was brought to an end when she saw an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench lower his paper as she walked past. Dressed in a simple but nice navy suit, his long gray hair and lengthy but well trimmed beard had him easily blending in on the streets of London as he read his paper. “Pleasure to see you here, Minerva. Lovely weather we are having, is it not?” The weather really was quite superb. The odd cloud dotting the sky, but otherwise warm and sunny with a light breeze.

If she had run into any other wizard reading the muggle paper in muggle London she might've been surprised, but when it came to Albus Dumbledore she'd long since learned to stop being surprised. “Oh the weather is nice I suppose, pity the rest of my day has gone so poorly.”

“Ah, the Spurs won their game last weekend. Shame I missed it. I wonder if there any good ones this evening? I could go for a nice pint and a good game.”

Minerva almost laughed at the prospect of the Purebloods on the Wizengamot if they could see Albus now. The eccentric man was genuinely fond of spending time in the muggle world every few months. She'd always declined his invitations, she'd much rather nurse a bottle of Ogden's Finest in the comfort of her home. His eccentricities did have a way of pulling her out of the dour mood that had fallen over her since speaking with Harry Evans. The small smile on Albus' face told her that it was intentional on his part.

“Ask your questions, Albus. I appreciate you trying to improve my mood but that was a very difficult conversation.”

Albus Dumbledore sighed and put away his paper. “I imagine it was Professor. Harry Evans' past is one wrought with strife, but he did need to learn of it. I am sorry that the burden of sharing said past to the boy was placed upon your shoulders.”

“No, no, it's a part of my duties to bring muggle raised students their letters, the extenuating circumstances have no bearing on that front,” she said as she waved away his apology. The situation wasn't normal, but she had her duties and she fulfilled them.

Albus hummed in agreement as he padded his pockets, probably in search of one of the lemon drops he always carries on his person. “I trust he took the news well? As well can be expected at least?”

“How is a boy learning that he has a brother he never knew that was raised by a godmother he's never met supposed to react? I think Harry Evans not immediately demanding we all go curse ourselves is a pretty damn good reaction!” She took the offered tissue from Albus' hands and dabbed the tears building in her eyes. “We failed him, Albus.”

“That we did, Minerva.” Albus Dumbledore was a man that didn't look his age in the slightest, but at that moment his eyes reflected a man who'd lived longer and seen more than most that walked the Earth. “I have made more mistakes than I care to remember, but all we can do is try and do better. For Harry's sake, for the sake of any other child who's care falls unto us.”

Minerva appreciated the heartfelt platitude but it didn't help assuage her guilt in the slightest. James and Lily should have been able to count on their friends and family to protect and care for their two boys in the wake of their deaths, instead one was left to grow up in foster care alone. They deserved all the blame the boy could hoist upon them.

“Did he agree to meet with Daniel and the Longbottoms?” Albus asked.

“I passed along the letter Alice had written, beyond that it wasn't my place.”

“You are correct, it would be rude to pry. We can only hope their reunion goes well.”

No voice was given to the doubts Minerva had towards the reunion between what should have been family. Harry Evans didn't strike her as a vindictive boy, but she would be hard pressed to believe that he would open his heart easily. Such was the case with any child that had to grow up looking after themselves.

When Minerva rose from the bench she noticed that Albus had started muttering to himself about the crossword puzzle. “Hmm, 'High-grade hard coal', nine letters.”

“How do you do it Albus?” She asked, astonished.

“Do what, Minerva?”

“How do you go from mourning your failures one minute, to happily playing a game the next?” They had helped ruin Harry Evans' life. A boy that should've grown up loved and cared for, and it was on them that he didn't! Her critique of the man wasn't fair, she knew that, but in the haze of emotions that claimed her she lashed out at the only person she could. The only person nearby who was at fault alongside her.

“Would that I could change the past, Minerva. There was a little girl that died in 1900, I would love to see her alive and well today. She was only 13, and I am the reason she is dead.”

Minerva had worked with Albus for over forty years. He'd been a mentor to her for more than a decade before that. She'd looked up to him since she was an eleven year old girl. Never had she seen him more grief stricken as in that moment.

“I had a lover once, passionate, inspired, and caring in his own way. He could have been such a force for good had I not help push him towards darkness. He killed more people than I could ever hope to count. Those deaths are on my hand.”

Albus leaned back on the bench then, eyes fixated on the sky above. “There was a boy I knew. He had been neglected and bullied his entire life. When I met him I should have shown care and understanding, instead I gave him judgment and scorn. I was fuel on the fire of his hate and he eventually turned to murder and terrorism.”

“Albus, I'm sorry. You don't have to-”

“We live in a cruel world, Minerva. Languishing away bemoaning this serves no one, neither us nor those we have failed.”

Suitably chastised, Minerva nodded along to her mentor's words. “You are right, I know. I just... that's Lily's boy and-” she broke off with light sob at the thought of her favorite student. “I am going to go home now and pour myself some of Ogden's Finest, tonight I just need some time alone.” Drinking would do little for her guilt long term, but right now she just wanted to forget.

Albus only offered a small smile as she stood to leave. She regretted lashing out at the man, but further platitudes were not what she wished to hear right now. Right before she left earshot she couldn't help the throaty chuckle as she heard her aged mentor exclaim in a satisfied voice “ah, anthracite!”

**OoooOoooO**

_“He'll be leaving soon, won't he?”_

_“Probably dear, I've raised enough boys his age to tell when they're going to leave.”_

_“I'm going to miss him... a lot.”_

_“You're not alone there, dear. Harry may not realize it but the little ones are all quite fond of him.”_

_“Will you miss him?”_

_“I miss every one of you kids when you walk out those doors, hon'.”_

**OoooOoooO**

The half filled bottle slipped from the young teen's fingers as he lounged against the bay windows. The night sky offered none of the comfort he often found on lonely evenings. Beth and Sarah had both reached out to him upon seeing him exit his meeting with the professor but had acquiesced to his firm desire to be left alone. The only company he wished to have then was whatever cheap rum he'd spirited away under his bed. His reliance on alcohol at such a young age might have been referred to as “unhealthy” by some, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The moment McGonagall had mentioned his 'family' he'd really needed a fucking drink.

James and Lily Potter had died defending Harry and his _twin brother_ Daniel from a crazed terrorist. Said terrorist was miraculously defeated when he attempted to murder Daniel too, but his spell mysteriously backfired and killed him instead, leaving only a pile of ashes and a wand in his wake. So now his brother was internationally renowned as the “boy-who-lived” and had spent his life living in relative obscurity and safety with _their_ Godmother and her family.

Professor McGonagall had offered an explanation, a justification of why he was shipped off to the Dursleys instead of being kept with his brother and the woman who should have taken care of him. He'd heard, he just didn't care. The anger within had begged to be let out, the righteous rage at being cast aside had longed for release, to be used against those that had hurt him – those that had abandoned him! But when green eyes met the distraught face of the woman sharing his life story, when he saw the tear stricken letter written by his Godmother, all that washed over him was resignation.

Harry was mad, he couldn't lie to himself on that front, but it was a muted anger. How much of a grudge could he really hold against people who tried to do right by him all those years ago? Forgiveness would remain in short supply, but he could not bring himself to hate them. They were perfect strangers in his mind. He'd give them the same chance to be apart of his life that he afforded every other random person in this world. The opportunity for them to be family had passed.

Daniel, his younger twin brother, was another matter entirely. What was he supposed to feel for someone who should have grown up alongside him? A brother he'd never met, but family was family, right? Harry didn't know how he'd react when finally he met his estranged twin.

The letter in his pocket seemingly grew heavier as he thought of the reunion he'd been asked to attend. He had no desire to sit down and listen to apologies and explanations about why he'd been tossed to the Dursleys' tender care. The past was the past, best to leave it there and move on. Harry would meet his godmother and twin at some point, hell, he'd likely grow to know them regardless of his opinion on the matter. But he staunchly refused to sit down for the express purpose of meeting them.

Harry shelved his thoughts of long lost family to the wayside in favor of happier thoughts. Magic. McGonagall had given him the run-down on the magical district of London and how he could get there once he turned down her offer of escorting him. The trust-vault he had waiting for him at the bank was apparently more than enough to cover his day-to-day life expenses until he graduated from school. The Potters were quite a wealthy family once upon a time. Liquidating most of their assets during the war had cost them a lot, but it meant there was a very sizable amount of 'gold' sitting in the bank, and half of it was Harry's.

_For the first time in my life I honestly don't have to be concerned with finances, thanks Pops._ Harry looked around the home he'd spent the last eight years at and felt only a sense of determination to move on. He'd board at a magical school for nine months and rent a flat for the other three. Though he'd certainly miss Beth, Sarah, and all the kids, it never crossed his mind that sticking close by was an option. For once he was the character in the fantasy book, this chance wasn't something he would pass up.

Diagon Alley was his destination tomorrow. A sprawling magical town situated right in the heart of London. The cultural heart of magical society in this part of the world. Restaurants, taverns, shops, stalls, entertainment, and oddities. A smile came to his face at the thought of it. He knew London like the back of his hand, but a new town, a new culture that didn't follow the rules of logic? Harry couldn't wait to explore.

“Well at least you're smiling now. I thought that dour mood would hang over you 'til you died.” Harry turned suddenly, surprised that he'd let Beth sneak up on him whilst lost in his own thoughts. She claimed the cushioned seat next to his and passed him a fag. All the kids must have been asleep, Beth always did her best to not let them see her smoke. “So, when are you leaving?”

Of course she knew what he was planning. “A few days, I'm going to get a few things settled in London and then I'm gone.”

Beth opened the windows and held her cigarette aloft for him to light. “Always figured you'd leave young, you've got a spirit for adventure in you. So where are you going?”

For a brief moment Harry considered lying to the woman. A gut instinct born from his desire to hide the meager amounts of money he'd scrounged together over the years. But this was Beth. The woman who'd given him food and a place to live since he was seven. One of the only adults to ever show an ounce of genuine care for him. He exhaled and the let the nighttime air claim the smoke. “A boarding school in Scotland. Turns out my parents went there and the school has this thing about legacy students.”

“Congratulations,” Beth replied, “I know school has been weighing on your mind for the past year. I'm happy for you.”

“I have an inheritance, too.”

Beth startled at that. “Did your father leave you something?”

“Yeah, he and my mum, actually. Evans was her maiden name, they were married and my father had old, family money.” Harry once more resolved to find out as much as he could about his family at first opportunity. He would likely always hold onto the name Evans, but he was still a Potter by blood, he would honor that.

“Huh, I think you're the first of my kids to come into an inheritance. Congratulations once more.”

Harry kept his gaze locked on the night sky, obscuring his face from one of the few people who could claim to know him well. “I have a twin brother.”

Beth took an extra long drag and reached for the discarded bottle of rum. “Christ, kid... any other bombs you would like to drop on me?”

_My brother was raised by our godmother while I was sent to the fucking Dursleys. My godfather is in prison for life. My parents were murdered by a terrorist, and my brother is the hero who 'stopped' him._ Those were details Harry was never going to share with someone ignorant of the magical world. Beth was a 'muggle', with neither a blood nor permanent legal relation to him. She would never know magic was real.

“That's all of them.”

“Will your brother be going to the same school?” Beth asked, she'd taken a large swig from the bottle then passed it his way. Harry was never more thankful than at that moment that Beth didn't give a damn about conventional parenting techniques.

“Apparently so.”

“That's good then, isn't it? Gives you two the chance to get to know each other. You're twins, you're bound to have something in common.” Ah Beth, ever the optimist. Harry was far more skeptical of his ability to relate to his twin.

The two lapsed into an easy silence as they finished their smokes. The streets of London weren't particularly loud this late in the evening, the odd car and the sound of a distant train, the street lamps below contrasting with the light of the moon. Harry wasn't often one to stop and appreciate the simple things in life, but lounging in the window and finishing a bottle of rum with Beth was a good way to spend the evening. Harry lamented that he'd likely not do this with the aged woman again.

Beth smiled down at the black haired boy as she arose from her seat. “I'm proud of you, Harry. You'll succeed at whatever you apply yourself to, I know that.”

Harry barely registered her softly spoken farewell. Beth's confidence in him served not as a groundbreaking resolution but a reminder. He. Would. Succeed. The world was at his fingertips and all he had to do was apply himself. Education, resources, money, opportunity. Gone was the poor orphaned child with no hope for the future. The world would know Harry Evans, he'd make sure of it.


	3. Chapter 3

_“The Green Dragon? No no, this here be the Leaky Cauldron.” -Tom the Barkeep to a curious muggle-born patron. Late Fall, 1958._

**Chapter 3:**

Harry stepped up to the dingy pub with a satisfied smile on his face. A hole in the wall place that most would overlook without a second thought. But when the eyes of the passerby's _literally_ slid over the inconspicuous building there was clearly something else at work. Since Harry placed himself right in the entryway not a single passing civilian seemed capable of noticing his presence. Pushing a man as he walked past only resulted in a light shake of the head and brief mutterings of not getting enough sleep. The 'muggles' – for what else could Harry think of them as when they couldn't even perceive the simple wonder he'd discovered standing outside a pub – rationalized a push from seemingly no where as nothing more than a lapse in their own motor skills. The shove from nowhere was obviously nothing because it couldn't be anything else.

Harry wondered what sort of measures were in place to stop the wizards and witches of the world from taking advantage of the muggles. Legal means or otherwise, to use magic against those without it would be easier than taking sweets from a child. The money that could be made in the muggle world with the help of magic set his heart racing. Only a few minutes after seeing magic at work and already he was planning his first bank robbery.

_The Leaky Cauldron_ wasn't as decrepit inside as the outside entrance would suggest. The low light and wooden décor did little to inspire a sense of luxury in the establishment, but a critical eye would reveal very little dust on the scattered furnishings. The tables and chairs were worn from likely decades of use, but they were still firm and stable.

A dozen patrons were littered throughout the tables and bar, some already well into their cups, others sipping on coffee or eating breakfast while they perused the paper. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that aside from long coats and thick robes worn as outerwear, the style of dress matched that with which he was familiar – but that was where the familiarity ended.

One of the men at the bar took a shot of a drink that by all appearances was just whiskey, but the steam that abruptly shot out of his ears dissuaded that assumption. A woman in the corner was playing cards against what was either an invisible person or simply a pair of gloves; even from a distance Harry could see the face cards were moving and talking, and the woman arguing against them. The waitress that waved her wand and caused all the spilled liquid to return to the mug from whence it came as she resumed busing the table. The man in the corner slowly spinning his finger in concentric circles, whilst his stirring spoon followed the same motion half a meter away.

Harry tried not to gasp and stare at every little sight, but he was certain he failed in such regards. Everywhere he looked there was magic. The wonder would eventually wear off, the extraordinary would turn to commonplace; but for now, he was Alice, and around every corner there was a new sight that begged disbelief. 

The bar was manned by a completely bald gentleman seemingly in his late 60s. A warm smile etched its way onto his features as Harry approached the bar. The rag the man had been using to wipe down a glass vanished, with said glass floating up to one of the shelves behind him. “Well 'ello there, I can't say I've seen you around 'ere before. I'm Tom, owner and barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron. What's your name, son?

The man's friendly demeanor was a welcome experience. It was no surprise to Harry that those new to magic were directed to enter Diagon Alley via this pub if this man was a regular behind the counter. Anyone suspicious of the world they were stepping into would find themselves immediately at ease thanks to the cheerful greeting and unassuming questions of Tom the barkeep.

“Harry Evans, first time here.”

“Welcome then, welcome! You're a muggle-born then, I take it?” Tom asked his questions with such a sincere interest Harry was almost taken back. This man clearly wore his heart on his sleeve.

“Muggle raised, actually, orphaned thanks to the war.” Harry knew that while his circumstances were more complicated than others, he was far from alone in being a child orphaned thanks to war.   
“Ah, I'm sorry there, lad,” Tom replied. “I can't say I know who your folks are based on your name, but I'll raise a glass to their memory all the same. Take a seat, have a drink on the house.”

Though slightly bemused Harry did as asked and took the proffered seat in front of the aged barkeep. The man was kind, and even if it wasn't alcoholic Harry wasn't about to turn down a free drink – especially not one offered in light of his parent's passing. A frosted glass bottle was placed in front of Harry, cold air rising from the opening. The liquid inside was an amber color with white foam gathered at the top. It was clearly a beer. Harry wasn't one to question free alcohol, nor the surprising lack of drinking laws.

“That there is what's known as Butter Beer 'round these parts. Quite sweet but also quite good. That version there is non-alcoholic but even then it has been known to lower inhibitions, but only a small bit.” Tom's explanation of the drink was interrupted only by his reaching down to seemingly nowhere to pull out his own frosted bottle. “Can be served hot or cold, but given the warm weather outside I figured you didn't need something to help warm your bones.”

A drink that lowered inhibitions but lacked the loss of motor control or hangovers? Butter Beer was undoubtedly a very popular drink among youths – especially those that found getting their hands on booze to be too difficult a task. But if a simple non-alcoholic drink still had mind altering affects, what was the potency of wizarding liquor? Harry's mind was a whirl with possibilities, and he couldn't wait to explore them all.

Tom raised his bottle alongside Harry. “To your parents then. Cheers.”

Harry muttered his own cheers before taking a drink while Tom downed his entire bottle without pause. The drink was exceedingly sweet, akin to butterscotch but less sickly. Harry was amazed by the utter lack of artificial flavoring. The thick syrupy texture he'd long since come to associate with sweet drinks was absent. “This is pretty good,” Harry said to the expectant barkeep.

“Damn right it's good. Everything I serve is good.”   
“You make the butter beer in house then?” Harry queried.

Tom barked a laugh. “Not at all, we buy from the same distributor just like everyone else. Ours is just the best!”  
Harry accepted Tom's 'logic' with a chuckle. The elderly man was clearly just joking, the odd gleam in his eye suggested that he took quite a bit of pride in the Leaky Cauldron and would happily defend that point even beyond the realm of sense. Harry's own opinions of the establishment was rather high given his own first impressions, so he acquiesced to the man's humorous claims.  
“So how long have you been the owner, Tom? Or did you build the pub?” Harry wasn't normally one for small talk, but given that he was still nursing his free drink, he would happily take the opportunity to gather more information on the world of magic.

“Oh, I've been the owner for a good 90 years now or so. Barkeep and server for at least 30 before that. The Leaky Cauldron has been around since 1512 though, so it's a fair bit older than me, yes sir.”

Harry was floored. He'd thought the man to be in his 70s at the latest. Double that was practically unthinkable. “You've been working here for over 120 years? How long do wizards and witches live?”

“That's right, you wouldn't know. Most magical folk live to be around 170 to 200 years. I myself will be 142 this November.”

Harry could scarcely believe that his own life span was double of that which he thought. Tom's appearance suggested that wizards and witches aged half as quickly, but Harry's matched the other muggles his age, so it likely slowed once they reached adulthood. A host of questions popped into his brain on the structure of their society and how it differed from the muggles when everyone lived so long.

“I'm one of the older ones these days though. Two wars in the last 50 years 'ave certainly taken their toll,” Tom said, his voice heavy. “Too many dead for their damned causes. Why can't people just be happy living their lives?” He was pulled out of his musings by the sound of Harry's now empty bottle setting down on the bar.

“Thanks for the drink, Tom, I enjoyed it.”

“Anytime lad, anytime. I'll make you pay for the next one but you're still a welcome patron at The Leaky Cauldron.” Tom affirmed his statement with a nod then began cleaning the area Harry had just vacated.

“Oh, the entrance to the Alley is through the door back there,” Tom pointed towards a hallway situated adjacent to the bar. “It's the only door so I don't imagine you'll get lost. He chuckled at his own quip before turning away, cleaning rag once more in hand.

Harry was about to leave when he noticed a handsome wooden staircase in the corner that led to a second floor. Looking about he saw a few tables and chairs overlooking a balcony, but the hallways were of greater interest. “Hey, Tom, you wouldn't happen to have any rooms available, would you?”

“I do believe I do, lad. You from out of town and need one for the evening?” Tom's question was understandable, but Harry had no intention of returning to the world of muggles before going to Hogwarts.

“What's your rate? I need a room until September 1st.”

“Planning to stick around until you head to Hogwarts then?” Tom asked.

“I'm weighing my options,” Harry replied. He didn't know exactly how much money he had access to, but it didn't hurt to get some information.

Tom reached below the register he had at the corner of the bar and lifted out a hefty ledger. He started muttering to himself about rooms and dates as he flipped through the pages. “Well I don't have any reservations that would stop me from renting you a room. Today is July 3rd, so you'd be needing a room for the next two months... I normally charge three sickles a night for a room and some breakfast in the morning, but if you're staying for almost two months I think we could negotiate a cheaper price.”

Harry really should've gone by the bank before trying to discuss finances. McGonagall had offhandedly mentioned the currency used in the magical world, but knowing he had a vault at the bank she'd continued on without delving further. Rather than admit his ignorance to the aged barkeep Harry did what he was good at, deflect and retreat.

“Sounds fair Tom, we'll discuss the exact details this evening, yeah?” Gods above he hoped that McGonagall wasn't exaggerating his inheritance.

“I'm working a split shift today so that will do just fine, lad. See you then.”

Harry waved farewell to the old man and made his way to the exit of the tavern. Stepping into Diagon Alley was an experience unlike any he had ever had before. The cauldrons of different shapes and sizes haphazardly stacked in a manner that seemed deliberately insulting to physics. A woman brushed past him muttering to herself on the ridiculous price of an ounce of dragon liver. Harry mentally filed away that dragons were apparently real. Lovely.

Children were crowded around a store called “Quality Quidditch Supplies”, gushing about the brooms advertised in the windows. “Look,” Harry heard one of them say, “it's a Nimbus Two-Thousand, the fastest broom in the world!” One shop sold telescopes and other metal instruments with uses the likes of which Harry couldn't even begin to guess.

An Apothecary was advertising a sale on the spleen of vampire bats, but a small sign was next to the display warning “not quite dead until doused in sun-infused oil”. On the street corner a man was conducting three other instruments that were playing by use of magic alone, passerby's tossing him the odd bronze or silver coin. There were shops selling books and tomes, quills and parchment, a magical pet emporium, potions and elixirs, there were restaurants and inns. Various clothing stores for all different occasions, toy stores for children. A small stand with portraits and paintings that not only moved but talked and interacted with those walking past.

At the end of the road Harry saw a large circular plaza from which multiple other streets branched off from. In the center was a towering clock-tower that Harry was certain had to be the size of the London Clock Tower. There were stores and shops by the dozens on the main street alone, each different and unique in their own way, having some element or oddity to further reinforce that he'd well and truly stepped into a different world. _Welcome to Narnia, Harry._

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

“Narnia, young Harry? No no, we do not look to talking lions for leadership around these parts.” Harry spun around, eyes narrowed at the man who'd seemingly read his thoughts. Seated at a small table with a chair on either side, the man had pale skin, long black hair, bangs tied back away from his face, and a pair of very dark glasses. He was completely clean shaven, and _appeared_ to be no older than twenty five, but Harry had already learned his lesson about guessing ages. The man was dressed in black pants and a loose light gray shirt that left half his chest exposed. Below the neck every inch of exposed skin was covered in various runic tattoos. Harry walked closer to the strange man, and in response he removed the dark glasses, revealing his milky white eyes.  
“You read my mind,” Harry accused.

“I might have,” the strange man replied, “but if I did what does it matter?” The man grinned at Harry but it was far from a friendly smile. His entire presence was unnerving, and that was discounting his ability to discern thoughts. “Take a seat Harry Evans, I wish to speak with someone, and I think you shall do nicely.” The man gestured to the chair opposite his own, expectant that Harry would comply.

Harry squashed the unease the man instilled within him and claimed the offered seat. The man could be dangerous, but the danger was nothing next to the curiosity Harry had. Besides, talking with the mysterious stranger was far more interesting than walking away.

“You are correct, Harry. Speaking with me is a far more interesting activity than anything else you would be doing right now. Your finances can wait, take a seat, converse with me.” The man materialized a thick gold coin from within his sleeve and spun it on the table. “We shall talk until this coin stops spinning, or until we get bored. Then we will go our separate ways and live the rest of our lives in peace. Fun, no?”

Harry had no clue what the man wanted with him, but he was suspecting that while they had different definitions of fun, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to miss out on. “Do you need me to talk? You seem to be able to read my mind no problem.”

“Why would I bother when your spoken words are so much more interesting?” The blind man queried, grin still fixed on his features.

“Why are spoken words more interesting?” Harry replied.

The man tsked at Harry. “Now now, it is most impolite to answer a question with a question.”

Harry tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He failed. “Fine, I don't know why my spoken words are more entertaining to you. Will you tell me why?”

The man chuckled at Harry's response, clearly taking some amusement in Harry following his lead. His finger tapped on the table three times in quick succession, the spinning coin that had been fixated in one location began slowly moving around the table. “Of course I will tell you why, though I do have to correct you first. I said spoken words were more interesting, not entertaining.”

“Is there a difference?” Harry asked.

“They are different words, are they not?” The man clearly enjoyed wordplay.

“Fair enough, will you answer my question now?”

“I suppose so,” the tattooed man said, “your spoken words are more interesting because they are those that you choose to give voice too. Your internal thoughts may be a more honest reflection of what you really think, but your choices are a better reflection of who you are.” The man folded his fingers and rested them on the table. “Does that answer your question, Harry Evans?”

Harry mirrored the man's pose, careful not to bump the coin lest it cease spinning. He doubted his efforts were necessary given that the man was likely using magic to keep it spinning, but he was cautious nonetheless. “It does. My turn again.”

“Oh, are we taking turns in asking one another questions?” The lilt in the man's voice suggested amusement more than anything.

“I see no reason not to. I get answers and you get interesting conversation. Win win.” Harry was a complete ignoramus when it came to magic, but there was something about the man seated in front of him that was different from anything else he'd seen thus far. Harry looked into the man's unseeing gaze and felt utterly naked. This man, whoever, perhaps even whatever he was, presented an opportunity Harry was not going to miss out on.

The blind man hummed in response and tapped the table three times more. The coin started spinning faster, weaving around their hands and skirting the edges of the table. “I like it. I shall go first.”  
“It's my turn, actually,” Harry said.

“But we just began this game, did we not?” The man asked, his grin growing almost imperceptibly wider.  
“You just acknowledged the game, but it had already begun,” Harry countered.

“Ah, an opponent! This truly is a game!” The man chuckled at his own realization. “I answered your question on spoken words, no? So the next question would fall to me.”

“You had asked me if your reply answered my question, which is a question in of itself.” Harry wasn't an expert in wordplay by any means; but as unnerving as the mysterious man was, he was right, Harry was enjoying himself.

Full and unbridled laughter left the man's lips. “Very true young Harry, very true. You are correct, it is indeed your turn. Ask away!”

“How did you read my mind?” Harry had played it off, but it bothered him to no end that this man had so casually seen his thoughts. He desperately needed to know if it was commonplace, and if possible, how to prevent it.

“I am a natural Legilimens, an especially talented one at that.” The pride in the man's voice was audible. “Legilimency being one of the principal elements of mind magic of course. Though I do have to correct your misguided assumption, the mind is not a book to be easily read. Legilimency is incredibly complex given the difficulty of navigating a foreign mind.”

The man's tone seemed to take on a weight when speaking of the potent magic. Harry had no reason to doubt his claims despite the seeming ease in which he'd picked apart Harry's thoughts. The man had already professed himself as being a 'natural' at the ability, alongside having talent.

“My turn,” the man declared. “How would you describe the state of your morality? Do you think of yourself as a good person? An evil one? Evaluate yourself for my amusement, Evans.” His grin had turned vicious with his probing question.

“Neutral,” Harry quickly replied, entirely unfazed, “and that was more than one question.”  
The man waved off Harry's accusation. “The same question just rephrased. Your turn.”

“Is 'mind magic' a common or well known branch of magic?” The mysterious man was definitely of interest to Harry, but the powerful magic he had at his disposable was far more valuable.

“No, it is not. Books on the subject are extraordinarily rare. Every practitioner is either a natural like myself or they were taught by a teacher. Which I am certain you can imagine is rare since –”

“The more people that know of mind magic the less useful it is, right?” The man's grin widening once more was the only answer Harry needed. _So, it is possible to stop someone from reading your mind._

“My turn,” the man said. “What do you think of your first trip to Diagon Alley?”

The seemingly innocuous question almost stumped Harry more than the probing inquiry. “Fascinating. I see why muggle-born kids are directed here, it really is a great way to introduce someone to the world of magic, tossing them into the deep end as it were.”

“Hardly the deep end of the pool, young Harry,” the man countered.

“Really?”

“Oh yes, really, and despite my having answered your question I will continue with my explanation. Keep up, Harry, this game does have a winner.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the man but mentally acknowledged that he was right. He didn't know how long the man planned to sit here and answer questions, so he had to make the most of each one.

“Diagon Alley is the cultural hub of magical London, this is true, but the location itself is barely steeped in magic. Most of the magic you see is simply the everyday variety. True magic goes far beyond the wonderful little spells you have borne witness to thus far.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replied. “Your turn.”

“So it is my turn,” The man leaned back in his seat, propping it back on two legs without using the table as a balance. “Which color would you say you are most fond of? Red, Green, Yellow, or Blue?”

“You're mad,” Harry said, utterly bemused by the man's question.

“'That which you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses.' Pick a color.”

“Green, I guess.”

“A good color, your eyes really are a special hue, no?”

Perturbed once more at the seemingly blind man's ability to discern the physical Harry ignored the rhetorical question.  
“What's an example of a place steeped in 'true magic' as you put it?”

The man chortled. “That is an easy one, Hogwarts.”

Harry leveled a blank stare at the man, silently urging him to continue.

“Oh fine I shall be sporting. Yes, Hogwarts. Built upon more crisscrossed Ley Lines than almost anywhere else on earth. Machu Picchu and the site of some of the Great Pyramids rival it of course, as well as a few other notable locations. But yes, Hogwarts is special.”

The man casually declared that two of the most historical sites on the planet were places of extraordinary magic. Only then did Harry start to wonder just how much of the world's history was warped and shaped by a world most would never know about.

“Alright brother of the Boy-who-lived, my turn again. You were sent to live with muggles while the younger twin was hidden away in the magical world. He is aware of his heritage, he has known love from family. How does that make you feel?” The man's grin bordered on villainous.

For the first time since the conversation started Harry was genuinely annoyed. “Ask something else,” he demanded.

“No, I do not think I will,” the man simply laughed at Harry's request. “Answer the question. Complicated the emotions behind the answer might be, but the answer itself is quite simple and we both know it.”

Harry glared at the man and the smug smile he boasted. “It pisses me off.” Harry had almost asked the man if he was happy now but he was loathe to throw away another question.

“Tsk tsk, holding in anger like that does not a healthy mind make, young Harry.”

“Don't care, it's my turn now.”  
“Indeed it is, ask away.”

“What is one book about magic itself that you'd recommend above all others?” Something in his gut told Harry that the man in front of him was the scholarly type, and he would use that despite his still lingering discomfort and growing agitation.

“An excellent question! Let me think....” The man drifted off into silence for over a minute, his chin held in his hands as he still balanced his chair upon two legs. “Ah! Of course. While finding a copy is far from easy, I would recommend 'The Disassembly of Reason' by Elan Morin Tedronai. I dare say that book shaped my view of magic more than any other.”

“Forgo a question to tell me about the book?” Harry asked.

The man pulled an intricately carved churchwarden pipe out of his sleeve and stuck it in his mouth, a small flame sprung to life on the tip of his finger which he used to light the tobacco within. Harry waited patiently as the man took a few puffs and slowly exhaled. The smoke swirled above the table, slowly forming into an intricate shape that clearly spelled the man's opinions on Harry's suggestion.

“You could've just said no,” Harry grumbled, “but fine, it's your turn.”

“Do you enjoy cooking, Harry?”

“Somewhat, depends if I have the necessary tools and ingredients.”

“But you would refrain from calling it a passion of yours?” The man queried further.

“That's another question.”  
“Come now Harry, it is your turn to be sporting, this is a game after all.”

Harry didn't understand how but the man somehow looked disappointed in him even through the grin. “Alright, I suppose that's fair,” Harry acquiesced. “No, cooking isn't a particularly enjoyable pastime for me. I know how to cook, I'm good at it, I can make any of Beth's recipes almost as well as she can, but I would never do so for fun.”

Harry still had no idea what the man was playing at. Even discounting his ability to read minds, the man's questions switched from inane to insightful at every turn.

“Are they inane, Harry? Are they really?”

Harry chose to again ignore the man's rhetorical comment. “What's your best piece of advice on attending Hogwarts?”

“Oh I like this one, but I am going to go ahead and take my next turn now since it will determine how I answer your question. Is that okay with you, my honorable competitor?”

Intrigue took center stage once more. “Go ahead.”

The man let the legs of his chair fall back to the earth and he was suddenly leaning over the table, pipe still clenched in his hand. “What makes you believe I attended Hogwarts?”

“Gut instinct,” Harry replied. “And the slight hint of fondness in your voice when you mentioned it earlier.”

“Very good. Well, that satisfies my query so I will now answer yours,” the man resumed his comfortable position leaning back in the chair, his ever present grin seemingly more genuine than before. “Explore, Harry Evans. Explore.”

The man waved his hand to acknowledge Harry's request to elaborate before it exited his mouth. “Do you know what makes Hogwarts unique when compared to the other magical locations I mentioned earlier?”

“I can think of a number of guesses, but I don't want to waste my question so just tell me.”

The man chuckled but accepted Harry's response. “The intent behind its creation. Machu Picchu was a royal estate, defense and beauty its primary elements. Situated above the Sacred Valley it was a symbol of power and authority, a message to both the Inca and any other tribes of their victory and strength. The intent is obvious.”

As the man spoke a wispy facsimile of Machu Picchu took shape in front of Harry, next to it the Great Pyramid of Giza rose anew.

“The Great Pyramid was a tomb for great kings and queens of old, a colossal structure truly deserving its rank among the seven wonders of the world, but again, we know the intent. To protect their honored dead and riches, to serve as a tomb for any who dare disturb the rest of those who lay there. The magic within this tomb is still a mystery to us in many ways; there are teams of curse-breakers that will spend decades at a time trying to undo a single new trap. But the intent behind the magic is known to us.”

“Hogwarts is a school though,” Harry decided to cut in when the man paused to collect his breath. “Is that not also clear intent?”  
“Yes and no, Hogwarts is a school, that much is true. That is why my old alma mater has classrooms and dorms. But that fact fails to capture the spirit of its creators, its founders.”

The smoky creations faded away in an instant, but there, inscribed on the table Harry could suddenly see, were four emblems.

“Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Individually brilliant, together unrivaled,” the man's tone was almost reverent when speaking of the four legendary mages. “The Founders of Hogwarts wished to make an institution of both learning and safety for young witches and wizards, but they understood that magic was more than a tool, it was the means to do the impossible. And so they set out to make the impossible a reality.”

“That doesn't really explain anything,” Harry countered.

“No, I suppose not,” the man relented. “To one who had explored Hogwarts like myself, perhaps. But you are still ignorant of what lies within those halls.”

“Could you explain it so I understand then?” Harry asked once more. The man had been surprisingly straightforward since Harry asked about Hogwarts. His grin was still in place, but that almost imperceptible pressure Harry felt from the man was muted as he spoke about the school.

“Alright then, how about this: you likened Diagon Alley to Narnia. Why?”  
“Because it felt magical.” _Duh._ Harry hoped the man was reading his mind when he thought that.

“Exactly! Magical! No one who had grown up only knowing magic could understand why you think of Diagon Alley that way, but you who had only known the world of Muggles describe that which you thought impossible as magical!”

“Okay, so Hogwarts is magical, I could've guessed that.”

“Yes, but Hogwarts leaves even those raised in a magical world thinking that it is a magical place.”

“How?”

“Because in Hogwarts you will find that which even magic says should be impossible.”

Harry's befuddlement was brought to an abrupt end. Hogwarts wasn't just a place of learning, it was apparently the collective work of four geniuses who sought to push boundaries, innovators of magic that took the words of cynics as a challenge.

“Well put, young Harry,” the man had read his mind again, ass hole. “And before you ask, no. I won't be giving you any examples of the kinds of things that can be found with Hogwarts' glorious halls. I spent seven years learning all the secrets that I could and I am absolutely positive I did not see everything that lovely school has to offer. You spend seven years looking and then we shall compare notes.”

Harry was actually glad the man had shut down the question before he asked it. If Hogwarts was as magical as this man was leading him to believe then it would be a travesty to learn of its secrets secondhand.

“I suppose it's my turn again,” Harry said, he would keep asking questions until this man stopped answering.

The man nodded his head at Harry to continue. “Please, ask away. I really am enjoying our little conversation, especially since we began speaking of Hogwarts.”

“What was the most useful class you took at Hogwarts?”

“Thank you for staying on Hogwarts whilst also asking something practical, bravo. As for my answer, well I am going to cheat and say it is a tie between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Both are building blocks of magic that simultaneously feed into and contradict one another.”

“That sounds more than a little complicated,” Harry remarked.

“Depends on how you look at it.” The man replied.

“A paradox is a paradox.”

“Are you trying to limit magic using logic? Alas, Harry, I fear we cannot continue this line of conversation until you have read 'The Disassembly of Reason'. Perhaps I could explain the necessary concepts to you but that would take far more time than I am willing to invest right now.”

“Magic doesn't follow logic at all? Then how is it something that can be studied?” Harry couldn't simply shelve his confusion in the face of such contradiction. He needed the tattooed man to clarify his statements now.

“I do not recall saying magic does not follow logic, I merely implied that you should not limit magic using logic. Come now we have been dancing with words this entire time, do not tell me you are lost now so late in the game?” The man's grin had turned into smirk, and Harry never thought he'd wish for the grin to return.

“Whatever, I accept that distinction despite how little sense it makes.” Harry was only fairly certain he actually understood the wordplay but there was no point in arguing. Harry had learned of magic yesterday, only a fool would truly argue over something they were brand new too.

“Lovely, then we can proceed. I think we can both agree that the rules of our little game were shoved aside in favor of our greater understanding of our respective answers, correct?” The man waited for Harry's small nod before continuing. “Then I do believe it is once again my turn.”  
“Ask away,” Harry said.

“A simple question for a complicated answer this time. Do you Dream?”

Harry was far to used to the curious nature of the man's questions by this point. “Yeah, I dream. So do most people. I rarely remember my dreams but I still do so.”

“So you dream, but you do not Dream?”

“What?” Harry was positive the man was just messing with him now.  
“'I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.' Accurate, is it not?”

Harry blinked. “Again, what?”

The man started laughing once more and though Harry had already suspected it was the case he now knew for certain – the man was certifiably insane.

“Do not fret over your confusion, young Harry. I do believe that over time all will be made clear to you,” the man's words sounded comforting but were anything but.

Harry accepted he wasn't going to be getting any clarification. “My turn again. What happened to your eyes?” Harry asked.

“Bold of you to assume I was not born this way. Another hunch, perhaps?”

“Yeah, another hunch. Now answer.”

“Humanity lives on a placid isle of ignorance, young Harry. The black sea of infinity surrounds us but our boats do not generally allow us to voyage far. I voyaged far.”

“Enough metaphors, that's not how we've been playing this game.” Fascinating the man's words were, his attempts to placate Harry's curiosity only spurred him on more.

“Let us just say that I was determined to gaze on brilliance at any cost, and that gaze was exactly the price I paid,” the man said hauntingly. “Does that answer satisfy you? If not ask a different question for I will not reveal any more.”

Harry was tempted to take advantage of the man's deal but something about his demeanor said that would be a mistake. The mysterious pressure had returned and Harry had no desire to see it rise any further. “That was good enough, barely. It's your turn.”

“Excellent,” the man said. “Well then young Harry, do kindly share with me your thoughts on death?”

“Terrifying.”

“Elaborate for me.”

“I really don't want to die,” Harry replied.

“Elaborate further.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man's pushing. Further proof that the man was inside Harry's mind that he chose to ask questions that had long since plagued the young teen. “Death scares me, okay? It's the only thing I can say for certain that truly does. I don't believe in an afterlife, or I didn't as of a couple days ago, so the idea that dying was the end of my existence terrified me.”

“They say that the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. Would you agree?” The smoke the man exhaled formed into tentacular shapes above him, and for a brief moment Harry swore he heard sounds he would never be able to describe.

“I certainly wouldn't disagree, but I think there's also a lot of intrigue to be found in the unknown,” Harry countered.

“An adventurer's spirit but a coward's heart, hmm?”

Harry took offense at being referred to as craven. “I only have one life, so I want to live it to the fullest; that doesn't mean I want to die, nor does it make me a coward!”

“Not fond of my hyperbole then?” The man asked.  
“Like you said, it's hyperbole.” Harry was adamant on this front. He'd never recklessly endanger himself, but that doesn't mean he's scared of his own shadow.

“You fear death yet court danger. Such a lovely contradiction.”

“I don't flee from death, that's the difference.”  
The man suddenly burst out into a state of uncontrollable laughter – he could barely stop laughing long enough to speak. “No no – we leave that – to someone else – do we not?”

The man's own comments sent him further into a fit. Whatever Harry had said that set the man off, he clearly found it to be the most hilarious thing in the world. Harry glanced around to see if anyone else found the man's unending laughter odd but he was eerily reminded of his experience standing outside the Leaky Cauldron. No one was paying any attention to the area in which Harry and the still laughing man sat. No one saw them, no one heard them, no one even tried to walk into their space. To the hundreds of witches and wizard walking around Diagon Alley, Harry and the man might as well have not existed.

The unease Harry had felt when first the man called out to him bubbled in his stomach once more. Ignorant though he was, Harry could mentally file away magic used to ward off muggles as simple. There was a clear delineation between those with magic and those without. But this? This was different. Harry could feel it in his bones that this level of magic was not normal. This _man_ was not normal.

The laughter had stopped.

Fear welled within him. Whoever it was he was speaking to scared him. Harry had felt nervous speaking to the man when first he was addressed. Those nerves, the butterflies in his stomach telling him that something was _wrong_ , he'd casually disregarded them. He'd forgotten that this world of magic was infinitely larger than he could have guessed. That pressure that Harry had always felt emanating off the man was almost suffocating.

When had the laughter stopped?

The man was just sitting there, chin held in one hand, milky white eyes fixated on Harry. His finger periodically tapping the table, the coin somehow spinning faster and faster with each pulse. His smile was gone. “Your turn, Harry Evans.”

There was only one question Harry could ask. “Who are you?”

Though it was so small that Harry would forever question whether it was his imagination, he thought he saw the man's lips quirk into a smile once more. “My friends call me Tom.”

Harry blinked and the man, _Tom_ , was gone. The table and chairs were gone. A witch brushed past him and muttered her apologies. Her words fell upon deaf ears. Harry could only hear the sound of his own heartbeat reverberating through his chest. He had walked into a game where he didn't know the rules and assumed he could still play. The air in his lungs felt heavy as a bead of sweat slipped off his brow. Harry fell to his hands and knees, cobbled stone tearing at his palms. He could barely breathe! He could barely think!

The clock tower rung its hourly bell. Eleven o'clock.

The sound of the bell pierced through Harry's shock. Why was he hearing that bell again? His gaze was drawn to the ringing tower and the impossible time it showed. Eleven had already come and gone, hadn't it? The bell had already rung before his conversation with _Tom?_ Then why was it ringing now?

Had he hallucinated _Tom_ , was it all his imagination? No. Surely not. He'd never shown any signs he was crazy before; unless he was hallucinating the entire last 24 hours then he knew his conversation with _Tom_ happened. Time dilation? Had someone used magic to alter his perception of time? An illusion then? If they used magic to invade his senses it would make sense.

_But why?_

Harry slumped up against the closest brick wall, his breathing still heavy but he no longer felt like he was suffocating. The polite inquiries of those asking if he was okay were waved off with breathy comments of “I'm fine” and “just tripped”. He was probably being rude but there was no way he was even going to attempt conversation right now.

“What the fuck?” Harry asked, his voice quiet and meant only for his ears. One day. One day in the magical world and already he was terrified. Why was he excited too?

_“You fear death yet court danger...”_

Damn him, _Tom_ was right. Harry hadn't been threatened in the slightest. There were no overt signs of danger but still, he knew. The moment _Tom_ had stopped laughing Harry had been at the edge of a cliff. _Tom's_ hand had been on his shoulder, ready to push him forward or pull him back at a moment's notice.

_What does it say about me that I'd like to speak with him again, even if I am standing on a precipice?_

A light whirling sound pulled Harry away from his own thoughts. A few feet away was a spinning gold coin. The crowds of people walking past meant that it should have been kicked or stepped on. The roughshod stone should have been an impossible surface for the coin to spin on, but it did so anyway. Harry crept forward and picked up the coin, the carved metal heavy in his hand.

“Umum Galleon?” Harry read the words off the coin.

“Lucky ta be findin' a galleon in the streets like tha', wish I ha' seen it before ya did.” The old man who spoke to Harry was clearly poor if the state of his clothes was anything to judge buy.

“Guess it's just my lucky day,” Harry said. The old man scoffed and limped away muttering about “spoiled kids” but Harry paid him no further mind.

This coin was the same one that had spun on the table. Harry had no idea if what he saw actually happened or was all in his head, but he knew that the coin in his hand and the one that _Tom_ had spun were one and the same. “Mine now,” he quietly said.

Harry reclaimed his seat against the brick and slowly rolled the galleon between his fingers. Mentally exhausted from the conversation that logic would dictate didn't happen. _Both wizards I've met today have been named Tom, if anyone else introduces themselves by that name I'm walking away._


	4. Chapter 4

_“Oh they are the most dreadful little creatures, aren't they? I've never once regretted taking up arms against them in the rebellions. I won't deny their ferocity in combat, but on the day we finally remove them from the British Isles I will be a happy man indeed.” -Cuthbert Binns to Walter Aragon over a game of chess. December, 1794._

**Chapter 4:**

“May your enemies slit your throat on your way home, Evans.”

“I hope you run yourself over with a cart and fall to your death, Griphook.”

“A mercy if I never again have to deal with the likes of you.”  
“I'll be sure to celebrate when I read about the fortunate passing of the world's most grotesque goblin.”

One trip to the 'Gringotts Bank” and Harry was absolutely certain – he really did not like goblins. Every single one of the ugly little creatures he'd encountered thus far had gone beyond just being rude and disrespectful, they'd pushed and pushed, apparently finding their passion in acting like cunts for no good reason. Harry was immediately suspicious when their welcoming words were a poem practically serving as an open invitation to try and rob them. If only they reserved their ire for thieves rather than patrons. Why the guard standing just inside the main entryway deliberately pointed Harry towards a clerk that couldn't assist him he had no clue, but Harry now very much disliked that guard. Why the clerk that couldn't help him had a fit after losing a grand total of 28 seconds assisting him he had no clue – but thanks to the long list of colorful insults about Harry and his family he now hated the clerk too.

The “key master” Harry had been instructed to speak with had seemed alright at first with his complete and utter devotion towards silence. That changed once Harry politely introduced himself, his circumstances, and asked for a key. Said key master was then practically apoplectic with rage. It was almost incredible watching a creature get so upset at actually having to do his goddamned job. Harry then dealt with a goblin from the inheritance department since they had to confirm his right to access the Potter vault. Turns out magical insignia are popular methods of determining identities, but since Harry didn't have anything of the sort to prove his inheritance, the goblins needed to conduct a minor blood ritual in order to verify that he was who he said he was. In the end said blood ritual only involved a prick of the finger and a few drops of blood on a rune inscribed stone tablet, but this was only after the goblins tried to convince Harry three separate times that he'd have to sacrifice an entire hand.

With his identity and inheritance proven, Harry could now request a key. So he endured 30 more minutes of bitching and moaning as the key master magically tied the new key to the Potter vault. Harry was instructed to go wait in line once more, and speak to the original clerk now that he had his key. The original clerk again could not help since “accounts that large are handled by managers, not clerks”, so Harry requested to speak to a manager. The manager too was annoyed that he actually had to do his job and provided Harry with a report on the Potter vault and how much of said vault Harry personally had access to, all the while insulting him, his family, and all of wizard kind. It was around this time that Harry finally got an explanation about magical money and with it the realization that he was absolutely loaded. Harry then requested to actually go to his vaults, but to do so required the assistance of one of the “vault guides”. And so Harry met Griphook...

  
_A completely bald goblin hobbled towards Harry. Pointed eyes, pointed ears, pointed teeth pulled back into some sort of snarl. “Are you the wand-scum that needs to go see their vault personally?”_

_“'Wand scum?'”_

_“Yes or no, human!”_

_“Jesus, yes. What the hell is your problem?”_

_The goblin somehow narrowed his eyes even further, “Wizards are my problem, especially you muggle-born ones with your pithy exclamations and worship for another wizard!”  
Harry shelved the racist proclamation in favor of the far more important detail in the goblin's ranting. “Jesus was a wizard?”_

_“Follow me, human.” Harry didn't know how the goblin forced such venom into his utterance of the word 'human', but Harry chose to follow the diminutive asshole anyway. He really, really needed to investigate his vault. The Goblins tracked the amount of gold with almost a religious fervor, but all the potential artifacts and other valuables held within were simply labeled as “other”._

_Griphook led Harry to the most rickety and unstable cart Harry had ever seen. “Am I really supposed to ride in that?”_

_“Do you not trust us, human?” The goblin sneered._

_Harry was quite sick of the attitude and insults at this point. “No, goblin, I don't.”_

_“I'd say you were smart, human, but if you were actually smart you'd know that these carts are magically reinforced and thus perfectly safe!”_

_“Right, and I'm supposed to just believe you? Your superiors upstairs already tried to take my hand,” Harry snapped back._

_“Then you can go back upstairs and not see your vault, human!”_

_“Or we could, oh I don't know, WALK!”_

_“Not an option, wand-scum,” Griphook said,_

_“Oh, I'm sorry, too far for your short little legs?” Harry countered, condescension heavy in his words._

_If Griphook could kill with looks alone Harry was certain he'd be six feet under already. “Vault 687 is impossible to reach without taking a cart you imbecilic ape!”_

_Harry rolled his eyes but acquiesced to the goblin's claims. “I'm not the one that can't build a cart without relying on a dozen different spells.”_

_The two traded barbs the entire way down to Harry's vault. Were he paying more attention to the journey Harry might've found the trip somewhat exhilarating but his mind was solely focused on channeling his wit and hatred towards his goblin escort._

_“Honestly, with such shoddy construction it's a wonder your people haven't all killed themselves,” Harry remarked. He was doing his best to channel the smug pricks he'd seen on the telly whenever Parliament was in session. “I mean, if I was as ugly as you I would've thrown myself down into the depths long ago, but that aside, construction like this has got to be pushing the limits of what magic is capable of.”_

_“How rich of you to scoff at goblin magic when you have to rely upon wands for every little spell!” The angry goblin retorted._

_“You keep telling yourself that as you hide beneath the earth little vault guide,” Harry said dismissively. Having reduced Griphook to a near manic rage Harry was rather content; his victory in their little exchange indisputable in his mind. Harry assumed that there was some sort of reason the racist little cretins served as bankers rather than not interacting with the humans they so clearly hated. So he felt rather confident in his ability to insult them without being in any immediate danger. The goblins “starting it” helped too._

_“Vault. 6.8.7. We. Are. Here. Wand. Scum.” Every word was forced out through clenched teeth as Harry stepped past the creature with a smug smile._

_“I won't say you did well, Griphook, but I did arrive safely if nothing else. One star out of five. If it was possible I'd give you a zero. Your customer service skills are just dreadful.” Without waiting for a reply Harry approached his family vault. The magic in the door resonated not only with the key in his hand, but he felt it seep and spread through his entire body. An almost imperceptible hum reverberated throughout him, and in that moment he knew the magic guarding the Potter vault, the magic tied to his family's blood, his blood, was welcoming him inside._

_Reading that your family vault contained over 50,000 gold Galleons didn't even come close to the awe Harry felt at seeing the mounds and mounds of gold in person. He didn't know the exact worth of a single Galleon, but given that it was 17 Sickles to a Galleon and Tom only charged three sickles for a room and some food, Harry was confident in his belief that he wouldn't have to worry about money for many years to come._

_Even more important to Harry than the gold was the tables, shelves, and chests at the back of the vault. On the tables were a number of artifacts that Harry couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of, but he made a mental note to check into them at a later date. The chests filled with clothes and pieces of jewelry were pushed to the wayside without much thought, his mind encapsulated by the many, many books stacked onto the shelves or into the chests._

_Most of the books didn't have titles or lettering on the spines, but after flipping through a few Harry was quick to realize that they were largely a mix journals and grimoires. In the midst of his family vault, surrounded by the history of the family he never knew, Harry began to read._

_'Tuesday the 10 th of July, 1274_

_Mother says that we are to get my wand the day after next. The journey will apparently take the entire day. I asked why so much time would be required and it is apparently due to the Ollivander family not allowing anyone to apparate onto their property. I had heard Father mention that family before when Simon was first acquiring his wand, but I had no idea that they were the only wand craftsmen in the region. Mother says that they are an old family, far older than our own, far older than anyone in England. Still, I am excited for the journey even if much of it will be on horseback. King Edward I is apparently known to go riding with the Ollivander patriarch on occasion, I wonder if I will get to see him. Eva still calls me foolish for having such an interest in the King, but she looks down upon anyone who cannot use magic. I know Father shares her views, but I cannot help but find the royal family interesting anyway. I have not spoken with Simon on this though I imagine he is of similar mind to Eva, I've rarely seen the twins disagree on anything.'_

_Harry's mind barely processed the magic that had to be involved that allowed him to read a journal written over 700 years ago as if it was written today. Instead he set the journal of Eustace Potter to the side and grabbed another._

_'Friday the 21 st of June, 1450_

_The discontent of the peasantry only continues to grow. Thousands have gathered to march upon London and still the king refuses to act in any way befitting his position. I spoke with William Abbott today on the state of affairs, the man is far from influential in the current political climate, but he does maintain the strongest working relationship with the king. The king's power is little, but he is still the king and that cannot be forgotten entirely. That pathetic show of force he tried to enact was always doomed to fail. I do not mourn the loss of Sir Humphrey Stafford, but the victories gained by the common rabble will only inspire more thoughts of rebellion. I have a meeting with Geoffrey Rosier and Stephen Fawley tomorrow, Stephen shares my concerns on the power this Jack Cade has come to wield and the negative impact it could continue to have on us. The two of them have concocted some sort of plan on how to disrupt the distressingly large number of gathered peasants and have since asked for my opinion. Suffice to say I am interested even while ignorant of the details. Something must be done to stop this man, and if the king won't do it, we Wizards will.'_

_“So my ancestors helped put a stop to Jack Cade's rebellion... wow.” There was more history in his hands than Harry thought he would ever see. His family had been there for the events he read about in school, his family had helped to shape those events even! There were hundreds of books scattered around the vault, and Harry mentally resolved to read them all someday. He put aside the journal of John Potter and again grabbed another._

_'Monday the 5 th of January, 1693_

_I cried again today. I know last week I swore that I was done crying over that which I have not a hope to change but I could not help myself. Today is Abigail's birthday. I am certain that she is having a lovely day, her family always lets the kids have it easy on their birthday. I promised her last year that I'd get mother to take us to the theatre in London. Abigail had never been able to attend due to her family's poor finances. I wanted to take her before I returned to Hogwarts. She was going to borrow one of my dresses and we would have such fun! We had already planned out the whole day together, her and I enjoying every minute of the theatre, and perhaps we would have stopped by one of those coffeehouses beforehand. Mother would be there to chaperone us of course, so I doubt we would have gotten away with any kisses or lingering touches, but even then I just wanted to spend time with her on her sixteenth birthday. How I wish I could go walk by the lake with her once more. How I wish she still remembered me.'_

_Harry felt morose as he set aside the journal of Eleanor Potter. A teenage girl pouring out her thoughts on lost love. He couldn't relate to the girl's feelings, but he sympathized with her all the same._

_A sudden spark of inspiration hit Harry over the head and he leapt to his feet checking the names held within the many journals. “Cmon, cmon, please be here somewhere...” Harry spent almost twenty minutes searching the aged but magically held together journals and notes in search of a single name. Then he found a small chest that held 15-20 journals arrayed within. Harry grabbed the first book and gently opened the cover. There, in the top left corner were the words 'Lily Evans'._

_Tears began to form in Harry's eyes as he saw his mother's neat calligraphy. This was hers. Something she'd held in her hand, something she'd written in. He had no pictures of her, no keepsakes, no memories, but now he had this._

_Harry had learned about his family the day McGonagall came, he'd learned about the sacrifice both of his parents had made. His father, James Potter, had instantly gained his respect knowing the lengths he went to in order to protect his family, to try and safeguard them from the threat of an insane murderer. Harry wished he could've known the man. But his mother... Lily Evans was a name he'd held dear for years. Her name was all he'd had, the only anchor to the life that could have been. Knowing the role she'd taken in the defense of his life only further cemented the love he had for his mother. With an almost tender care Harry started reading the first entry._

_'Sunday the 4 th of August, 1963_

_This is my first entry in you, diary number seven. Number six still had some room left but Sev convinced me to start a new one since this is “a new chapter in [my] life” or something. He's right though! I'm a witch! That's definitely a big enough change to warrant a new diary. A secret diary! No one but my immediate family is allowed to know I'm a witch, not even Grandma and Grandpa! I don't know if I'll be able to lie to them though... I'll have to ask Sev if there are any exceptions. I still haven't told Mum and Dad about anything. Even with my flower trick they didn't seem to think anything was different about me, but with an explanation and Sev talking too them too I'm sure they'll believe us. I'll definitely bring Sev with me, he knows more about all of this stuff right now. I wish my parents didn't need me to convince them, I didn't need anyone to convince me after all. As soon as Sev said I was a witch I knew he was telling the truth. But Mum and Dad aren't magical, so I guess that makes sense._

_Oh! Sev told me about Diagon Alley today! An entire magical district hidden in the middle of London! There's apparently a smaller alley hidden in Birmingham called Origin Alley, but it's more of a historic residential district than Diagon Alley is. I can't wait to go and see it for myself! I'm still excited for Hogwarts too of course, but there's an entire world out there I've never seen. How could I not want to see it all? I can't thank Sev enough for telling me about the magical world, I couldn't imagine waiting five more years to get my Hogwarts letter delivered to me._

_Tuney is still barely talking to me... she says it's because I'm spending time with Sev but I don't know. She screamed at me when I showed her my flower trick. Tuney has never screamed at me like that before. We've fought sometimes, especially that one time I got mud on her new dress, but she's never been this upset with me. I haven't said anything about magic to her since. I don't think I have anything to say sorry for? Hopefully things go back to normal with us soon.'_

**OoooOoooO**

_“What's wrong, Pet?”_

_“Oh nothing, I'm sure. I just feel sad for some reason. Like I lost something that I'll never get back.”_

_“Ah, it's probably just the heat. It's really getting up there today. Dudley!”_

_“Yeah, Dad?”_

_“Go grab that spare fan we have stored away for your mother. The heat is getting to her.”_

_“I'll get it in a sec.”_

_“Now, boy.”_

_“Alright, alright. God, I was just going to wait until the next break.”_

_“We'll get you feeling cooler in no time, dear.”_

_“Thank you Vernon, I'm sure you're right I just need a bit of rest and to cool off after working out in the garden all afternoon.”_

**OoooOoooO**

Harry left the bank that day with a magically enlarged coin pouch filled with a mix of Galleons and Sickles, a magical checkbook, and the first five journals his mother had written. He'd sat in the vault for well over an hour reading the words a ten year old Lily Evans penned to her diary. Griphook turned to loud complaints around minute 25, but Harry stalwartly ignored those. Any misery hoisted upon the goblin was a positive in his book.

Lily Evans had been an exceedingly intelligent young girl, so exuberant and full of life, but it was quickly apparent that the girl possessed a temper and a vindictive streak as well. Harry had only read to entry three when a young Lily Evans grew tired of her sister's passive aggressive actions and decided force a confrontation. Harry could not deny the shock he felt at reading the long list of vulgar words a ten year old girl in the 60s had at her disposal; nor the punishment a young Lily enacted upon her sister in the form of bugs placed inside her shoes. Harry felt only joy at Petunia's suffering, the woman had apparently been a bitch as a child too.

Harry was glad that he had this window into the mind of his mother, a child though she was at the time. Professor McGonagall had barely spoken about them but Harry could already tell that he was receiving an account viewed through rose colored lens. That's how most spoke of the dead, people only wanted to remember the positives of those who had passed on. Harry didn't want to just know the positives of his parents, he wanted to truly know them – who they were, what they liked and disliked, their hopes and dreams, faults and insecurities. His mother's journals were the answer to a wish he didn't realize he had.

Harry had only one stop left to make before he returned to the room at the Leaky Cauldron he'd hopefully be able to rent. A wand. Harry wasn't certain the exact extent that wizards and witches relied upon wands to cast magic. He'd seen plenty of magic used by individuals without the aid of a focus, but the words of the goblins stuck with him nonetheless. Hyperbolic insults they may be, but McGonagall, the waitress in the pub, the journals, and even his list of required supplies for Hogwarts, wands were mentioned too often for Harry to ignore. Hunches and gut instincts were something Harry followed more often than not.

Harry already knew where he had to go to get a wand, he'd seen the sign earlier and the journals had confirmed it – Ollivanders. At first glance the narrow shop seemed shabby, but the longer Harry stood outside the shop the more he was certain, the building practically thrummed with _age_. The gold letters were peeling and the window was dusty, but Harry could feel a saturation of magic layered over the building that only compared to his family's vault.   
“Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Gods that's a long time,” Harry said. If his ancestor's journals hadn't already served as a good source he'd doubt the authenticity of the claim.

A small tinkling sound greeted Harry from somewhere within the shop as he stepped inside. A small room with only a spindly chair and a positively ancient piece of furniture that resembled a hostess stand. Along the walls were thousands of narrow boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice shocked Harry out of his reverie. A seemingly old man was standing in the entryway to the backroom. His hair was white, wrinkles adorning his features, his eyes pale and wide, shining in the gloom of the shop.

“To you as well,” Harry said, not taking his eyes of the man who seemed to glide around the shop without making any sound.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Ollivander said, speaking to Harry even as he began to peruse the shelves.

“You know who I am?” Harry asked, taken aback at being recognized.

“Indeed I do. Your younger brother stopped by almost a month ago now. A very tricky customer that one,” Ollivander responded.

“You met my brother?” Harry asked, his attempt to sound casual failing even to his ears.

“Indeed, indeed, as I just said,” Ollivander stopped and looked back at Harry. “Which is your wand arm?”

“I've never used a wand, how would I know?”

“Take your best guess,” Ollivander said as he pulled out a tape measure.

“I'm right handed, so right, I guess,” Harry said as he held out his arm to be measured.

Ollivander didn't stop at measuring his arm from shoulder to finger, he continued measuring from his shoulder to the floor, his shoulder to his knee, toes to armpit, and even around his head. Eventually the aged man stepped away but the tape measure just kept on measuring.

“Have you any knowledge of wand-lore, Mr Evans?” Ollivander asked as he started pulling down boxes.

Harry suddenly had a very grim reminder of a man he did not wish to think about right now. “How'd you know I go by my mother's maiden name?”

“I thought not,” Ollivander continued as if Harry hadn't said a word. “Yes, your brother didn't either, surprisingly enough. I'll explain anyway, every Ollivander wand has the core of a powerful magical substance. The types of substances can vary greatly, but even for similar substances no two wands are exactly alike.”

“Fascinating,” Harry bit out, “now how did you know what name I went by?”

“Oh, that. We both know you already know,” Ollivander said, admitting to reading his mind as if it were barely worth mentioning. “Anyway, if your brother was any indicator I think you too will be a tricky customer and that excites me.”

“I'm not my brother,” Harry retorted, slapping away the tape measure that had just tried to measure the width of his nostrils.

“Hmm, well that much is obvious Mr Evans. And yes, do slap that thing if it keeps going. I've told it for months that we've progressed beyond measuring nostrils and eye-lash lengths but it just doesn't listen – doesn't listen at all. Honestly, as if I wouldn't progress past the level of my father.”

“How obvious is it?” Harry asked curiously. “You're the first person I've encountered that's compared us.”

“Honestly, Mr Evans, I do not think I am the one you should ask about such matters, my focus lies not on your physical appearance.” Ollivander opened one of the dozen or so boxes he'd collected and gently extended it towards Harry. “Right then, try this one. Blackthorn wood, eight and three quarters inches long, kraken heartstring core.”

“Before that,” Harry paused uncertainly, “how important are wands, exactly?”

Ollivander looked momentarily amazed before understanding dawned in his eyes. “Do not be ashamed of your ignorance, Mr Evans, I will explain.”

Harry nodded his head at the man to continue. He was glad that he didn't have to explain to Ollivander why he knew nothing of wands, even if the man could read his mind.

“Wands are the cornerstone of modern magical society,” Ollivander said passionately, he must enjoy speaking of the craft he and his family had dedicated their lives to. “Whilst we humans are capable of magic without wands of course, we require these delicate tools to demonstrate the true majesty of spell-craft.”

“I see,” Harry said simply. His experiences with magic suddenly becoming a bit more clear. “Makes sense.”

“Good, now that that's settled we may resume.” Ollivander once more extended the box containing the previously described Blackthorn wand.

No explanation was needed from the old wand-maker on what Harry should do. The instant he palmed the wand Harry could tell that it just felt _wrong_. “Why does it seem so eager? No, a better translation would be... hungry?” Harry said aloud. Without waiting for a response he placed the wand back in the box from whence it came. “It was... aggressive. Like it wanted to fight to satisfy its desire.”

“Interesting,” Ollivander said, his voice trailing off at the end.

“What?”

“I did not expect you to be so in tune with the magic of wands to be able to discern feelings,” Ollivander mused, his eerie eyes looked upon Harry without blinking. “Oh I'm really getting excited now!”

“Was my reaction not normal?” Harry asked, reaching for another box.

“The farthest thing from normal, Mr Evans. Dare I say it, abnormal.” Ollivander pulled his gaze away from Harry and lowered it to the wand now held loosely in Harry's hand. “Rowan wood, nine and one half inches long but very thin, the core is a unicorn tail hair. Do indulge an old man and describe what you feel.”

Harry closed his eyes as he tightly gripped the wand, mentally straining for... something. “It doesn't seem very fond of me. I can't tell exactly why though. It's almost as if it's disappointed.” Harry shook his head in confusion, he knew there was more to this wand, he could _feel_ that there was more. “It's more personal than that, it's not just disappointed, it's disappointed in me. Rejecting me specifically.”

Ollivander was hanging on Harry's every word. “Fascinating,” he said quietly.

Harry returned the wand to its container and immediately the foreign feelings dissipated. “Level with me, what the hell is up with these wands?”

“No no no, not these wands Mr Evans, all wands!” Ollivander exclaimed as he grabbed half the wands he'd brought out and walked away.

“That doesn't even remotely answer my question,” Harry called out. He was starting to wonder if every person he met in the wizarding world was going to be vague and eccentric.

“Wands are not just tools, they are more! You don't choose a wand, a wand chooses you!” Ollivander yelled, having not ceased his rummaging around even whilst he spoke.

“Are wands alive?”

“No, no, of course not, not in the physical sense at least,” Ollivander said loudly. “Metaphorically, well, that's still a hotly contested debate.”  
“Okay, well what do you think?” Harry asked, seeking any sort of information that was actually helpful.

“Oh me?” Ollivander's voice was muted as he crawled into a shelf that by all the laws of physics shouldn't have gone that far back. “Ahh, I settled nicely in the middle. Wands are not alive, but they need not be alive to have wills.”

Finally, Harry no longer felt completely lost. “Okay, and I'm what, sensing the wills of these wands?”

“Sensor!” Ollivander loudly exclaimed. “Yes! That's the name! Ahaha, I know where that book is now.”

Harry watched the man run off muttering to himself once more. Resigned to waiting while the old man searched for whatever it was he was looking for, Harry reached over and grabbed another wand box from off the stand where Ollivander placed them. It wouldn't hurt to keep testing wands in the meantime.

Barely taking heed of the physical aspects Harry reached down to pick up the wand. His fingers had scarcely touched the aged wood when he recoiled. Held within the wand was pure, unadulterated hatred. Malevolence the likes of which Harry had never felt before. Harry jumped back, eager to just get away from the wand that _wanted to kill him_.

“Ah, that wand,” Ollivander suddenly remarked from the doorway, a small brown book held in his hand.

“What the fuck do you mean 'that wand'?” Harry exclaimed. “That thing is evil!”

“It is evil, yes, and its creation is not something I'm particularly proud of,” Ollivander said sadly.  
Harry glared at the man. “Then why did you bring it out for me to test?”

“Forgive my curiosity, I -” Ollivander sounded genuinely apologetic. “I haven't ever had the pleasure to observe a sensor who wasn't already bonded to another wand.” Ollivander walked forwards and returned the lid on the vile instrument.

“What was that thing made from?” Harry demanded angrily.

“Yew, eleven inches long, the heartstring of an Aswang as its core,” Ollivander refused to meet Harry's eyes.  
“What's an Aswang?” Harry asked, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

Ollivander grabbed over half the boxes he'd since removed from the stand and began putting them back on the shelves. “A particularly vile creature native to the Philippines. While many of the details can change, the consistent element to this dreadful monster is that it's known to feed off of pregnant woman and young children.”

Harry stared at the man aghast. “Then why the hell would you make a wand out of something like that?”

“To prove that I could, Mr Evans. The crafting of wands is a complex and fickle art. No two wands are the same and neither is the process of their creation.” Ollivander stopped and turned, finally meeting Harry's gaze. “I apologize for involving you in my curiosity but I am not sorry for the creation of that wand. I strive to create great wands and that wand is most certainly great. The combination of materials I was able to harness together – that is a great wand, Mr Evans.”

Harry watched the old man turn away quietly, more boxes being returned to the shelves before they'd been tested. Harry suspected that magic had successfully pushed the ethics of the world more askew than what he was used to. The differences to the muggle world only served to fuel his intrigue.

Harry turned away from the old man and picked up the small book that had been set aside.  
 _'We Who Sense' by Ashier Mi You_. “What is this book, Ollivander?” Harry asked, slightly desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, oh that! Yes, yes, yes. It's a book that I've had around for ages. My great uncle was a sensor you see, and this book – why this book was what he always recommended to me should I wish to study the subject.”

“So you're a sensor too?”

“No no, it's not something that can be learned,” Ollivander paused and shook his head. “No, that's not quite right. Sensors have to learn, but very limited is the number of those who can learn.”

“Huh,” Harry eloquently responded. Suddenly engrossed in the small book's preface.

Harry's reading was suddenly interrupted when Ollivander pushed an open wand container in front of his face. “You may read that book later Mr Evans, after you have purchased it from me. But for now we must return to finding you a wand.”

“I can purchase the book?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Yes yes, along with a wand,” Ollivander said as if it were unimportant. “Now, try this one.”

“No descriptors?” Harry asked, slightly wary after the old man's experiments earlier.

“For your benefit as much as mine,” Ollivander quickly responded. “Without any knowledge of what it is you are holding you get to try and sense the feelings emanating from the wand and-”

“And you get to observe me as I do so, right?” Harry finished for the man.

Ollivander's smile went as wide as his eyes. “Indeed, Mr Evans.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Harry picked up the wand and held it aloft before quickly returning it to the box. “I felt a great deal of boldness and pride from that one. It didn't consider me worthy, I think.”

“Willow, ten and a half inches long, with the feather of a hippogriff as its core,” Ollivander helpfully supplied. “Yes, yes, I can see why it wouldn't choose you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dryly before collecting himself. “Explain something to me though, I know you said that wands choose the wizard, but how exactly do they do so?”

Ollivander blinked. “I'm afraid I do not understand your question Mr Evans. Are you seeking a more in-depth explanation surrounding the will of wands?”  
“I guess?” Harry shrugged.

“We do not have twenty years for me to teach and thirty years for you to learn, so I will endeavor to make this concise,” Ollivander said, his tone brisk.  
Harry was reasonably certain he was just insulted but nodded along anyway.

“The wand chooses the wizard or the witch to whom it wishes to bond with, there is no role for the wizard or witch to play,” Ollivander paused and withdrew his own wand. “My own wand has been with me since I was eleven. It chose me, Mr Evans. If my father had handed to me other wands before this one its entirely possible that I would have a different wand today.”

“So, there's no perfect fit?” Harry asked, clearly surprised.

“Perfect fit? Why of course not!” Ollivander declared, indignant at the very suggestion. “Did you think that if I asked you to pick a material and core that I would just be able to craft for you the perfect wand?”

“Umm, no?” Harry said, the obvious lie coming easily to his tongue. Luckily Ollivander was absorbed in his own rant.  
“I have never understood how that ridiculous rumor about specially crafted wands got started,” Ollivander said irately, waving his hands in the air. “Insinuating wands are nothing more than the sum of their parts, honestly!”

“I was just curious,” Harry said defensively.

“Not you,” Ollivander said, waving away Harry's comment. “It's the rest of the wizarding world. It's no secret that the wand chooses the wizard but these people insist on removing all agency from the wand.” Ollivander grabbed another box from the large pile he'd prepared. “Now then, Mr Evans, shall we continue?”

**OoooOoooO**

_“Who is the letter from, Daniel?”_

_“It's from Gringotts.”_

_“Your monthly statement? Seems early, doesn't it?”_

_“Um, no. This is informing me that the other inheritor has made their rightful claim.”_

_“Ah, that law. A holdover from the 17 th century contract. There was a problem with successors robbing their own family blind when planning to skip town and head to the colonies. Murder the head of the family –“_

_“So, Harry's back...”_

_“-secretly go in as an inheritor and empty the vault. It didn't take the Wizengamot long to come up with a few fixes and then ratify the treaty with an amendment. It has been a part of The Treaty ever since.”_

_“Do you think Harry got the letter mum wrote him?”_

_“Yes, I think he got the letter. Professor McGonagall said she would deliver it and I trust her word.”_

_“I know, I know – I guess I'm just nervous.”_

_“Daniel, did your mom talk to you?”_

_“About Harry? Yeah, she did.”_

_“I don't want to dampen your hopes but-”_

_“We have no idea what he's like, not really. You guys don't want me to get hurt, I know.”_

_“I'm sorry, Daniel.”_

_“You have nothing to sorry for, Dad. It's not your fault or anything.”_

_“No, Daniel, it really is.”_

**OoooOoooO**

After over an hour and a half of sitting on the tall spindly chair in Ollivander's shop trying wand, after wand, after wand, Harry was more than ready to leave the aged establishment.

“This one is willful and very focused, I guess,” Harry said. “But like all the others it rejects me. It's as if there's an invisible barrier between us. I can sense the magic within and I might even be able to reach for it, but the wand would be fighting me at every turn.”

“I see, I see,” Ollivander mused. “Well, the wand itself is a very sturdy fir wand, nine and a quarter inches long, with the heartstring of an owlbear.”

“Am I the tricky customer that you hoped for?” Harry asked, at this point fairly disinterested in the composition of another wand that rejected him. He'd taken to hanging his head over the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling and watched the pattern begin to take on shape and dance.

“Oh very much so, Mr Evans. Just as tricky as your twin brother, actually,” Ollivander responded.

Harry couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. He wasn't sure why, but comparisons to his brother had already started to rub him the wrong way.

“I wonder,” Ollivander said quietly before dashing to the back.

“Wonder what?” Harry called after him, but no response was forthcoming. Harry shrugged and focused on the ceiling once more.

Minutes passed with Harry only hearing the odd sound of scraping from deep into the shop before Ollivander emerged once more, a layer of dust now coating his sleeves.

“Find what you were looking for?” Harry asked the man, sitting up straight at the prospect of something new.

Ollivander walked directly in front of Harry but did not move to offer the wand held in his hand as he had every one before. “Based on the results of the last wand you tried combined with your questions I was struck with a sudden inspiration,” the aged man said, his voice soft.

Ollivander gently, almost reverently removed the lid from the box in his hand, revealing a polished pitch black wand within. “This wand is unique, Mr Evans,” Ollivander began, “but no more so than any other wand in this shop.”

Harry started at the bait and switch the man had pulled on him. “Then why did you have to spend minutes searching for it in the back?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Ah, because this wand was not crafted by my hands, but by those of my grandfather, Gerbold Octavius Ollivander,” Ollivander said the name of his grandfather with an unmistakable pride. “An exceedingly talented man when it came to crafting wands, everything I know I learned from him. He made this wand in 1746.”

“That wand is almost 250 years old,” Harry said, amazed.

“Made from dense ebony wood it is quite a heavy wand. Thirteen and a quarter inches long. Affixed with the heartstring of a particularly dangerous Swedish Short-Snout. The same Swedish Short-Snout that escaped from its handlers and caused the Tiverton fire of 1731.” Ollivander didn't miss a beat as he recited the characteristics of the wand he didn't even create.

“Grandfather purchased the heartstring and a number of claws at auction once the beast was put down,” Ollivander continued. “He was eager to see it choose someone so as to get a grasp of its true potential, but he obviously died before he was able. My father never got his chance either.”

“And now?” Harry asked, starting to get excited at the prospect of this incredible wand being his.

“You are only the second individual I've brought this wand out for, Mr Evans,” Ollivander said. “I suspected it would choose Tom Riddle many years ago, but he was selected by another before I could pull this wand out of its container.”

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the mention of _another_ Tom but he resolved to mentally deal with that later. He would swear that the more Ollivander spoke the more he felt the magic of the wand calling to him.

“How I and my fellow wand-makers know how to pair wizards and witches with their wands is a trade secret I'm afraid,” Ollivander said, “but suffice to say you met the standards, and now I offer to you this wand.”

Harry reached his hand forward to take the wand for Ollivander's hand. The instant he grasped the magical wood he knew that'd found his match. Magic he hadn't ever felt welled from within him and resonated with the ebony wand held tightly in his hand. It wasn't just a tool, it was practically an extension to his arm – the missing limb he never knew he'd lost.

The feelings Harry felt from the wand merged seamlessly with his own. It was bold. Harry was comfortable. They knew who they were.

“This is my wand,” Harry said, elation reflected in his features. Without prompt, and for the first time since Harry had been told he was a wizard, he tried to use _magic._ It was raw, forceful, and primal in execution, but magic flowed from within Harry out of the ebony wood he held aloft.

Darkness blanketed the room, the only light the silver glow emanating from Harry's wand. He stood there, amazed and utterly transfixed on that which he'd wrought throughout the room. Slowly but surely swirling lights began to form in the darkness, taking shape and moving – movement that he _knew_ reflected the experiences he'd already had since learning of magic.

“A beautiful spell if I do say so myself,” Ollivander's voice breached through the silence as the man materialized from the darkness.

“I don't know if I could count this as a spell,” Harry said, his voice quiet even to his own ears. “I just tried to use magic.”

“Magic often reacts to our subconscious,” Ollivander said softly, his eyes tracing the light show.

Harry would've stood there and watched for hours, his mind absolutely encapsulated by the magic he'd somehow created. His trance was interrupted by Ollivander's hand suddenly clamping down on his shoulder.

“This experience will prove a lovely memory for us both, Mr Evans,” Ollivander said. “But I think I am going to bring it to a close here. I would like my store back, after all.” The old man removed his wand from his sleeve and waved it almost dismissively. His features were briefly puzzled before he turned to Harry, a small smile in place.

“A more potent spell than I initially suspected,” Ollivander remarked. “ _Finite Incantatem.”_

Harry watched the man form deliberate motions with his wand as he spoke the spell, and just like that the darkness faded away. Harry was sad to see the spell dissipate. Whether it was the fact that it was the first time he intentionally cast magic or the actual effects he knew not, but a melancholy atmosphere settled over him.

“Congratulations, Mr Evans,” Ollivander said. “I do believe that you shall surpass my expectations for such a wand.”

Harry mutely nodded his thanks before turning to retrieve the book on sensing he was given permission to purchase. “So how much are these going to run me?” Harry asked.

“Before I get to that, I have one other item I believe you'd like to take a look at,” Ollivander said.

“And what would that be?” Harry asked, curious as to what else the man could offer.

“A wand holster,” Ollivander responded. “A simple but brilliant design that uses rune inscribed corded leather in the shape of a simple bracelet. On this bracelet is a small loop that one can easily slide their wand into.”

“What do the runes do?” Harry asked.

“In this case everything,” Ollivander said, seemingly surprised by the question. “They hold the bracelet in a fixed location, they keep the wand secured, they allow for wands to be easily drawn and holstered away once more.”

“Are they a new invention?” Harry was already sold but more information couldn't hurt.

“A new innovation on an old invention,” Ollivander said brightly. “The old wrist holsters were these long leather bracers that extended from the finger to the elbow. But a wizard named Skomjorn, a rune-master from the Nordic region, successfully inscribed interlocking three dimensional matrices onto corded leather and created the version that is commonly used today.”

“I'll take one,” Harry said quickly. An unobtrusive holster that's easily hidden and allows wands to be quickly drawn? It wasn't even a question.

“Then I shall go retrieve one for you,” Ollivander seemed happy with his sale.

When the old man returned Harry immediately slipped the holster onto his forearm. True to his word, Ollivander's description was almost perfect. The bracelet, as Harry could not really bring himself to think of it as a holster, was tightly wound aside from a single loose portion that his wand slotted into perfectly. The bracelet was fixed in place and scarcely noticeable despite being pressed against his arm. Even the long piece of wood was unobtrusive despite Harry's brain telling him that given the length it should be in the way.

“I love magic,” Harry said quietly.

“I trust you can figure out the exact mechanics on your own time, Mr Evans,” Ollivander said, cutting in to Harry's intense inspection.

“Right, right. So how much will all of these run me?” Harry asked for the second time.

“Fifteen galleons for the wand, five for the book, and another fifteen for the holster.” Ollivander didn't even have to think. “More expensive than what I would normally charge, yes. These items are either older than I am or younger than you though, so I believe there's something to be said for their value.”

Inwardly, Harry recognized that he was about to spend more money than he had ever dreamed of being able to spend frivolously, over 5000 pounds if his math was correct. But the simple realization that he could easily afford the purchase washed over him, and suddenly Harry no longer cared about the cost at all.

“Worth the money,” Harry responded simply as he pulled out the checkbook the goblins had provided to him. He paused when he realized he had no pen. “Umm, do you have something I could write with?”

Ollivander surprised Harry when he pulled out a brilliant black-feathered quill and passed it over.

“Any ink?” Harry asked. He wasn't that familiar with quills but he was reasonably certain quills and pens did not function the same way.

“Magic, Mr Evans,” Ollivander responded dryly.

“Ah, right. That,” Harry said lamely, his face lightly flushed at the blunder. Just another reminder to not treat this world with the logic he was familiar with.

“Just input the amount, the date, and sign your name. Those checks are tied to both your vault and your blood,” Ollivander explained helpfully. “If anyone but you tried to make use of those checks there would be dire consequences.”

“I'm surprised the goblins would go so far for their clients,” Harry muttered.

“Yes, well, unpleasant though the goblins of Gringotts may be, there is a reason our society entrusts them with our money,” Ollivander said.

“I'll remember that,” Harry said, mentally filing away Ollivander's specificity in referring to the goblins as 'Gringotts goblins.'

Harry finished filling out the check noting how odd it felt to write with a quill. Scratchier than any pen he'd ever used, but the ink flowed easily all the same. His writing had never been considered neat before, now it was only one step above chicken-scratch. Ah well, it was still legible. Barely. “Annnd, signed. Now what?”

“Now we use this rather helpful device the goblins invented and just like that the money will be transferred from your account to mine,” Ollivander said.

Harry watched as Ollivander pulled out a small device that somewhat resembled a muggle cash register but was smaller and had far less knobs and buttons. “Huh, that's convenient,” Harry remarked.

Ollivander nodded. “Oh quite convenient. This device is only around a hundred years old. It used to be that we carried large amounts of coins with us everywhere. We had to visit the bank in person constantly,” Ollivander trailed off for a moment as he continued to work the odd machine.

“If one were to ask me,” Ollivander continued, “I suspect the Gringotts goblins invented this just so they would have to interact with humans less.”

“Helping us in the interest of not having to deal with us,” Harry said dryly. “Somehow that logic seems perfect for a goblin.”

“It does, doesn't it,” Ollivander said as he passed the check back to Harry. “That there is a copy, Mr Evans. I will hold onto the original for legal purposes whilst you keep a copy as a record of our transaction. It would not do to fail to keep track of our finances, now would it?”

“In case you get audited?” Harry asked.

“Something akin to that, yes.” Ollivander said mysteriously.

Harry was more than content to not pry further. Ollivander was an odd man who's company Harry was ready to be done with at this point. “Right, well, thanks for your help, I guess. I'm still annoyed at you for that shit you pulled earlier,” Harry said, unwilling to give the man a pass on the awful experience.

Ollivander merely shrugged. “Farewell, Mr Evans. I think we shall be seeing each other again.”

“Not soon, I hope,” Harry said quietly as he stepped out of the shop and onto the still busy streets of Diagon Alley.

**OoooOoooO**

_“Why would you suggest such a thing?”_

_“I thought it best, at the time anyway.”_

_“Separating us was for the best? Are you kidding me?”_

_“Daniel, I won't deny that in hindsight it was a mistake-”_

_“Yeah, obviously.”_

_“-but at the time we were scared. Your parents were dead, my mother was dead. Our homes were supposed to be safe and it was clear that they weren't.”_

_“How the hell is that supposed to justify sending Harry away?”_

_“When Lily did whatever it is that she did, she left behind powerful defensive magic. More powerful than anything I've personally seen.”_

_“I know, her magic is what protected me from Voldemort.”_

_“Yes, but what you don't know is that Dumbledore figured out how to tie that magic into a ward scheme.”  
“He what?”_

_“You heard me correctly. He said he couldn't tell exactly what it was or how it was created, but the magic could be interacted with.”_

_“How does that explain why Harry and I were separated?”_

_“I'm getting there. The protections your mother left on you were also on Harry just to a lesser degree. The house was destroyed but the only scratch on either of you was your scar. It was clear as day that your mother had shielded you both from harm.”_

_“Dumbledore... He created two safe houses instead of just one, didn't he?”_

_“There was no such thing as too careful back then...”_

_“And you all chose me instead of Harry because I was The-Boy-Who-Lived, right?”_

_“Your name had already been revealed to the world. We knew the likelihood of you being targeted was far higher than the relatively unknown older twin.”_

_“But it was you who had the idea for everything?”_

_“Yeah, it was me.”_

_“Was the Fidelius charm an option?”_

_“No, for three reasons: One, the Fidelius charm doesn't play well with other wards. Two, only one secret per secret keeper. Three, the secret keeper being inside the secret they are keeping will slowly but surely erode the charm. No one knows why but it’s a fact.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Which brings us to the other reason why it's my fault.”_

_“There's more?”_

_“Alice suggested that she take Harry while I keep Neville and yourself. We'd each be the other's secret keeper and we could all stay safely hidden until it was time for you all to go to Hogwarts.”_

_“I – I don't-”  
“It was me that convinced her not to. I don't think she's ever really forgiven me for that.”_

**OoooOoooO**

As the sun began to dip into the horizon Harry realized that he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Beth's place and move out before the day's end. Shops and curiosities by the dozens pulled at his attention as he made his way back to The Leaky Cauldron. As much as he wished to explore now, he had time for that starting tomorrow.

“Keep walking, Harry. Just keep walking,” he muttered to himself. Luckily, the old tavern wasn't far from Ollivander's shop, so Harry wasn't exposed to temptation for long.

Entering the pub Harry immediately made his way to the bar. The tavern was packed compared to earlier in the day. Harry glanced around and saw people seemingly from all walks of life gathered to eat and enjoy a nice drink at the end of the day. Tom was nowhere to be seen but the woman running the bar approached in his stead.

“What will it be, dear?” She asked kindly, a warm smile on her face.

Harry realized in that moment that he had no eaten since breakfast. He wasn't certain as to what exactly he was smelling, but he quickly informed the waitress of what he needed, “I'll take an order of whatever it is that smells so delicious.”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow but still smiled as she poured Harry a water. “Alfie's on the grill tonight, I'll tell him to throw on another steak, yeah?”

“You and Alfie are both angels,” Harry said, returning the woman's smile.

“I'll be sure to let him know,” the barkeep laughed as she turned away to refill another drink.

“One quick question if you have the time,” Harry called after the woman.

“I'm listening,” she responded, still facing another patron.

“What time will Tom be back in?” Harry asked, slightly concerned that the busy tavern would run out of rooms.

The woman glanced back at Harry in understanding, “you're the kid that wants to rent for a few months, aren't you?”

“That's me,” Harry said proudly.

“Don't worry about your room dear,” the barkeep returned, “Tom already has one set aside for you. Said you all could talk payment whenever you next see each other.” The woman gestured up the stairs with her free hand. “Room number nine, ready for you whenever.”

His room secured for the night, Harry let out a content sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Thank you,” he called out to the woman that was once more absorbed in keeping her patrons at the bar happy.

Harry turned around and gazed upon the friendly and warm atmosphere that permeated the tavern. “And thank you, Tom,” he muttered quietly to himself.

Harry stayed in the pub while he enjoyed his dinner. Alfie's skills on the grill were something to write songs about. Shortly after his food was delivered Harry noticed a large group of wizards and witches gathered around what appeared to be a radio.

_Magical, I'm guessing._ Harry thought to himself. It wasn't immediately obvious, but Harry now understood that while the magical world lacked electricity, they did just fine without it.  
“What are they listening to over there?” Harry asked the man sitting next to him.

The man in question was rocking the salt and pepper look but didn't have a wrinkle anywhere on his features. His eyes were locked onto the barkeep, more specifically the woman's backside, but still he responded easily, “they're listening to the quidditch game.”

“Quidditch?” Harry said, confusion evident in his tone.

“Haven't heard of quidditch, eh?” The man chortled. “Muggle-born then.”

“Muggle raised, actually,” Harry countered. “Just learned of my heritage yesterday.”

“Welcome back then, dear!” The barkeep entered the conversation at this point. She wagged her finger at the man next to Harry. “And you, Luca, don't think I didn't notice you staring at my ass for the last half hour.”

“If you knew I was watching then you should've done a dance,” the now identified Luca said with a wink.

The barkeep only laughed before turning away once more, a noticeable sway in her step that showed off her assets quite nicely. “I take it you two flirt often?” Harry said, highly amused by the duo's antics.

“Oh often enough, Kiara and I have been married 35 years now so that's how it goes,” Luca said fondly.

Harry glanced at their hands and saw matching silver bands. He shook his head at having missed such on obvious detail. “Yeah, that makes sense then,” he said. “So, tell me about quidditch.”

“Best sport in the world,” Luca let out a hearty chuckle. “Two teams, seven players per team, six hoops, a total of four balls in play at all times, all hundreds of feet in the air.”

Harry let out a long whistle. “I'm sold.”

“Damn right you're sold!” Luca said enthusiastically. “Order another drink, I'll explain to you the rules and the like; and then I'll tell you about one of the greatest matches of all time – 1958, Japan versus Morocco, the semi-finals of the World Cup.”

Harry was momentarily tempted to ask for a rain-check and keep to his schedule, but he was in a new world, he was a new Harry, and he was going to follow his every whim and desire until it killed him.

“Kiara,” Harry called out, raising his hand in the air, “I'll take whatever you're allowed to serve me, and another drink for your husband as well please.”

Luca laughed uproariously, “good man, good man. What's your name, kid?”

“Harry Evans.”

“Listen well Harry,” Luca began, taking a large swig of his drink, “listen well and appreciate the glory that is quidditch.”

By midnight, Harry was a die-hard fan.


	5. Chapter 5

_“The Ministry? Come down and raid ol' Knockturn? That there's a good one, mate. Ministry doesn't raid down 'ere, oh no. They tried that once upon a time, got sent scurryin' back up to dear Diagon with their tails tucked right between their legs. Only bleedin' aurors come down 'ere now – an' lemme tell you, they're far worse than any raid.” -Mundungus Fletcher to a business associate over a drink, a bar in Knockturn Alley. October, 1988._

**Chapter 5:**

The early morning sun was still shining through the windows of the bedroom that Harry had called his for eight years. The book-shelf in the corner contained the books that he'd be leaving behind, which was all of them. Harry enjoyed each and every book he kept but he was living in a fantasy story now, he had no need to read about them.

All Harry had really packed was his clothes and a few keepsakes, all of which fit into a single large duffel bag. The photo album Sarah had gotten him was tucked tightly away. She and Maya had both been big into photography. They took pictures of experiences more than scenery or posed group photos. On his last birthday Sarah had gone and compiled an album for him. Filled to the brim with memories of the time they had all spent together and random little shots she'd taken of him. Throughout the majority of the last year she'd frequently given him more photos to tuck into corners or flaps. Harry cherished that album more than most things he owned.

Looking back at the room that still looked entirely lived in, Harry was reminded of how he'd never felt truly at home here. He would thank Beth until the day he died for all that she'd done for him. Both her and Sarah would always have a place in his heart. But he wasn't saying goodbye to his home, he was saying goodbye to the place he'd lived for a few years. It was the closest thing Harry had ever known to a home, but he'd never allowed himself to truly embrace living there. A small part of him fearing that if he did so, he'd lose it. So even after living underneath the same roof for the past eight years, Harry Evans still didn't have a home.

“You really are leaving,” Sarah suddenly said from behind him. Her words weren't a question.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said, turning to meet her eyes.

Sarah clenched her fist at her side. “Were you going to say goodbye?” She asked, her voice sounding hurt to his ears.

Harry walked forward and pulled the girl into a tight hug. “C'mon now, we both know I'm not that bad.”

Sarah's hands snaked around Harry as she returned the hug, now burying her head into his shoulder. “I'm going to miss you, you know?” She said, her voice muffled as she cried into his shirt.

Harry kissed the top of Sarah's head and continued to hold her close. “I'll miss you too.” He knew it wasn't fair to the girl. Every person she let herself get close to inevitably left her alone. First her parents, then her grandparents, then Maya, and now him. Regardless of the circumstances, the fact of the matter was that he was leaving her behind, and they both knew he wasn't going to regret it.

After a minute of silence Sarah slowly pulled away from their embrace. Wiping her eyes of the tears that had built up she looked up at Harry with a smile on her face – a smile that was painfully fake. The pain in her eyes all too easy to read. “Well, Beth told me you're rich now so if I ever need money I'm hitting you up, okay?”

Harry saw what she was doing and happily played along, for her sake. “You already mooch off me, so I doubt I'll be able to tell a difference,” he said, a far more genuine if still somber smile on his features.

“If you think I'm bad now just you wait, Harry,” Sarah countered, forcing a small laugh as she did. Harry wished she would drop the facade, but he could never ask her to be honest right now, it would only hurt her more when he still walked away.

“I'll see you then,” Harry said. He kissed Sarah on the head one last time before making his way past her and down the stairs for the last time.

Waiting for Harry in the main foyer was Beth and all the kids as he'd affectionately dubbed them. Few words were exchanged as he hugged each of the kids goodbye. He wasn't particularly close with any of them, but he had still known them all for two years at least, and he knew that they liked him. Jim, more than the others, was emotional as he bid Harry goodbye.

“You'll visit sometime, right?” Jim asked, his eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at Harry.

“Definitely,” Harry said, smiling down at the boy, hoping his words wouldn't prove him a liar down the road.

Then there was Beth. Harry walked up to the woman and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. They were the only words he said, they were the only words that needed to be said. Two little words carried eight years worth of care and emotion. Harry pulled away from Beth and he saw in her eyes that she understood. Harry kissed her on the cheek and stepped towards the door.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Beth said, tears in her eyes as she watched another one of her kids leave her care.

“Bye all,” Harry said. He walked out the front doors, stuck a smoke in his mouth, and never looked back.

Harry hailed down a taxi and gave an address that was near the Leaky Cauldron. Normally he might have taken the bus, but he had muggle cash to burn so why not take a load off and enjoy an easy method of travel. It wasn't even ten in the morning by the time Harry reached the magical tavern, and just like that he felt validated in paying for the more expensive method of travel.

Having already met with Tom earlier that morning and agreeing upon a more than fair price, Harry nodded at the man but otherwise walked straight up to his room for the next two months. Room number nine wasn't glamorous but it did still have the same sense of tasteful age the rest of the Leaky Cauldron possessed. A good sized four poster bed in the middle of the room, a small nightstand next to it. A dresser against the wall across from the bed, with a standing mirror placed adjacently. A desk and simple wooden chair in the corner completed the ensemble.

Harry tossed his bag on the bed and removed his coin pouch and the list of equipment and books Hogwarts had provided. “Might as well get the necessities out of the way first,” Harry said. He had a list that he was going to complete today, but that was no excuse not to have a look around, wander off the beaten path a bit.

Harry made his way back to the Alley and was again surprised by just how crowded it was. _Note to self – figure out just how many magical folk there are in Britain._ Harry didn't mind the crowds though, having this many people in one area brought a certain level of excitement to the streets. Combine that with the obvious magic every which way he looked and Harry was having a blast.

“Right, trunk first so I can carry all this stuff,” Harry said. Rather than asking for directions Harry just started walking, his eyes peeled for any signs or displays that would help guide his way. For the first time in his life Harry didn't have to worry about money, time wasn't a constraint in the slightest, and each and every one of the shops was a new experience. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to squander this opportunity. Harry Evans was determined to have a damn good day.

**OoooOoooO**

_“Wait, you're serious, Mum? You're not letting me go to the Alley?”_

_“Dressed like that? Absolutely not.”_

_“Dressed like what? Daddy bought me these clothes! What's wrong with my shorts, a Swish and Flick t-shirt, and a flannel?”_

_“What do you mean your father bought you those?”_

_“I asked Daddy if he could please buy me these clothes and he said yes!”_

_“Well I'm going to have to speak with him on what's proper for a young lady to wear.”_

_“You know you're one of like, five witches in all of England that actually cares about this kind of stuff, right?”_

_“Witches should care more about modesty!”_

_“How about they worry about how they dress and I'll worry about how I dress? Everyone's happy then.”_

_“Well I'm not, Lavender. You're my daughter and I don't want you going out dressed like that. So if you want to go out with your friends then go upstairs and put on a more conservative outfit.”_

_“No way.”_

_“Then you're not allowed to go, it's that simple.”_

_“Ugh! But I already agreed to meet Annabel and Faye at that new boutique store!”_

_“You can write them a letter explaining why you weren't allowed to go.”_

_“Oh yeah, sure – 'dear Annabel, I couldn't leave the house because my mom is crazy and afraid of showing more than her ankles. Sorryyyy!'”_

_“That's it, Lavender! Go to your room! I'm done arguing with you right now.”_

_“Fine, my room or the hammock out back. Makes no difference to me since I'm stuck here either way!”_

_“Go, Lavender.”_

_“I'm going, I'm going! Merlin, what's your problem?”_

_“Your mouth is. Now go!”_

_“I already said I was going!”_

_“Another word, Lavender, and I'm revoking your house elf privileges for a week!”  
“Eep!”_

_“That's what I thought. Honestly, that girl...”_

**OoooOoooO**

Harry let out a contented sigh as he plopped down on top of his trunk. He was currently seated against a bare spot of brick in Diagon Alley after having spent the better part of six hours shopping.

“Multi compartment trunk, check. Standard size pewter cauldron, check. One set of crystal phials, check. One set of brass scales, check. One telescope, check. One pair of dragon-hide gloves, check. Standard array of potions ingredients, check. Extra self inking quills, check. Notebooks and spare parchment, check. Schoolbag, check.” Harry was pouring over the list provided to him by Hogwarts along with the extra things he'd picked up after shopping in the various stores. There were a lot of random stores and stands in Diagon Alley.

Harry realized after about fifteen minutes of walking that he couldn't identify a purpose behind the majority of what was being sold. Some things such as an enchanted razor or a magical deck of cards were obvious, Harry had seen them in their respective shops and immediately purchased them. Then there were other items such as the bottle of “left handed nazle powder” that Harry had spent ten minutes trying to decipher but with no luck.

Harry was tempted to purchase a “Cloak of Death” when wearing it gave him the appearance of a truly grotesque undead nightmare, complete with a skeletal face and desiccated skin. He knew that he'd have far too much fun on Halloween with such an item, but until he had a place of his own to store it, he refrained.

Then there were items such as the “Glutton's Fork.” Harry could not resist asking the shop-keep what exactly it was, and the answer both intrigued and disgusted him. The ability to at will turn anything that will fit into your mouth into an edible version of itself was disturbing, to say the least. Harry did not even consider purchasing one even if the enchantment itself was quite interesting.

At one point throughout the day, Harry had enjoyed a lovely conversation with a painting of a witch that claimed she'd once danced with Godric Gryffindor at a party. A lie she maintained even when the seller had pointed out that she was a painting of a witch from the 1600s. Harry was not quite certain of when Godric Gryffindor had been alive, but he gathered from the merchant's tone that it was far enough away from the 1600s so as to make the dates incongruous with one another.

The painting next to her had been just as full of tall tales, though admittedly far more entertaining ones. Harry could technically neither confirm nor deny the veracity of Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski De Rolo III's claims, but he was immediately skeptical of them when the poised man asserted that he and a group of legends had battled a god while atop a living, colossal mountain that was laying siege to civilization's oldest city; and that they sealed said god before he could bring doom upon the world. An entertaining story, to be sure, one Harry wouldn't mind hearing in detail at a later date, but it wasn't the type of tale that Harry could believe to be true – no matter how much Lord Percival insisted that was the case.

Harry had learned an interesting fact from the seller of the fine paintings that he had engaged in conversation with. The magic of portraits that allowed real people to be captured and immortalized using paints and dyes, had only been around since the Renaissance. A fictional painting had long since been able to speak and move about the frame, embodying the character in which they were created, but real people, real likeness, the magic behind these works was a comparatively new technique.   
“All I have left to grab is my uniform and my books,” Harry said aloud, returning his focus to the list in his hand. “Now, if I was a uniform, where would I be sold?” Harry glanced around but couldn't see any sort of shops that had clothes available for purchase. With a destination in mind but no clue as to how to get there, Harry rose to his feet and started walking once more, his wheeled trunk being pulled behind him.

After roughly 30 minutes of searching Harry finally found his way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The interior of the shop could not have possibly reflected what Madam Malkin was selling more clearly. Mannequins that kept posing in different positions were literally all over the shop, each advertising vastly different styles of robes. Some of which were simply outer-wear layered over-top other articles of clothing, while others appeared to be a manner of dress in of itself. Near the door was a desk that had a number of ledgers and one of those devices akin to a register that Ollivander had also possessed. Seated at the desk was a middle aged woman dressed entirely in mauve.

“Hogwarts, deary?” The somewhat squat woman asked.

“Yeah, full set. You sell the entire uniform or just the robes?” Harry asked.

“Oh we have the entire uniform here,” the purple woman replied. “Shirts, ties, shoes, pants, skirts, and of course, robes.”

Harry was borderline uncomfortable with the way the woman said 'robes', but he shrugged it off. “Great, I'll take the standard lot for blokes then,” he said.

“Go right through the back there,” the woman gestured with her hand. “One of my assistants should be there, and they will handle your fitting.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Harry made his way to the back and saw a girl who couldn't be more than a few years older than himself sitting on a stool with a book in her hand. She was cute, brown hair tied back in a messy bun with a few bangs falling loose that framed her face nicely. Dressed in ripped high waisted jeans and a simple black top, Harry definitely thought there were worse people he could have fit him for clothes.

“You the assistant I was told to see?” Harry asked.

Said girl dropped her book in surprise at the sudden address. “Holy. Fuck,” she glanced up and saw Harry grinning at her from the door way. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Never would have guessed,” Harry said, amused.

“Asshole,” the girl said as she rose from her stool, clearly annoyed at having been caught off guard.

“Guilty,” Harry accepted her accusation with pride.

“Just get on the footstool,” the girl said.

Harry laughed but still did as he was instructed by the assistant.

“Hogwarts first year, right?” She asked as she grabbed a bunch of fabrics.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, watching the girl as she went about measuring him. “Can I get a name?”

“Leia, and don't you dare say anything about Star Wars or I'll stab you.”

“Message received,” Harry laughed. He had definitely been about to mention Star Wars.

“What about you, what's your name?” Leia asked.

“Harry Evans, pleasure.”

“Mhm, sure it is.”

“Bit prickly today, are you? Or is it me you dislike?” Harry asked teasingly.

Leia snorted, she took a brief glance back at the hallway before replying to Harry in a lowered tone. “You try measuring people by hand all day when an enchanted tape measure sits upstairs and see if you don't get annoyed.”

Harry tried to hold back his chuckle but failed spectacularly – and so Leia promptly stabbed him with a needle. “Ouch! Rude much?” Harry exclaimed.

“You deserved it,” Leia retorted, a small smirk now on her face.

“Great, you enjoyed stabbing me,” Harry said dryly. “I guess I know what to expect for the next half hour, sadist.”

“Please, I'm a switch. I'll only stab you for half that time.”

Harry laughed at the girl's quick retort as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of a very cute, older girl flirting with him. “Is that so? I'll have to remember that for later.”

“I'm out of your league, Evans,” Leia said smugly. “Come back when you’ve filled out in a few years, then we'll talk.”

“Later it is,” Harry responded easily. “I’m told I have good genes, so that shouldn't take too long.” Inwardly, Harry was so proud of himself.

Leia rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her face, she refrained from responding any further. Despite their banter she'd been working diligently and was now thoroughly engrossed in her task. Outside of the intentional injuries she inflicted, Harry hadn't been stabbed as a product of her work even once.

“So what year are you at Hogwarts?” Harry asked, enjoying his conversation with the cute and forward girl.

“I'm about to be a fourth year,” Leia said, the first bit of enthusiasm entering her voice. “Hogwarts is a blast. Lots of empty rooms, not a lot of supervision – if you catch my meaning.”

Harry understood quite well. “You explore much? Someone I know said that was the best part about the school, a lot of secrets to be found,” Harry said, barely holding back a shudder at the thought of Tom.

“Can't say I have,” Leia responded. “I found my quiet spots that others never seem to find and that's enough for what I'm after.”

“So unimaginative,” Harry said, thoroughly unimpressed with the girl's lack of spirit and quite willing to tease her over it. “I enjoy a nice hook up spot too but come on, don't you want to find more adventurous places to hook up in?”

“Hey, fuck you. Between my classes and hook ups I don't have time for much else,” Leia said indignantly. “Not that I wouldn't mind the occasional tryst in a better spot than an abandoned classroom,” she muttered quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes at the girl fondly and chose not to press her any further. She clearly wasn't as curious as him about finding interesting things, but she also seemed genuine in her stance that classes took a lot of time. There was nothing else for Harry to say. Didn't stop him from checking out her ass as she bent over to pick up the needle she dropped. Kindred spirits they might not be, but Harry was still a hormonal teen.

“Classes difficult?” Harry cut through the silence that had fallen over the pair with another question.

“What am I, your student handbook?” Leia said, though there was little heat to her words.

Harry just shrugged. “Eh, you might as well be. You've already admitted classes and sex consume all of your time. Sex is out of the question for now, so talk to me about classes.” Harry couldn't lie even to himself, he was quite proud that he didn't stumble over his words to the cute nineteen year old.

“Wow,” Leia said succinctly. “Your persuasion skills suck dick, Evans.” She really was quite the poet with words. Almost as if it was on queue Leia stabbed Harry in the leg. Again.

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, he raised his arms in surrender, interrupting Leia's work in the process. “A question related to your job then?”  
The girl snorted at his quick retreat. “Go for it,” she said, forcefully readjusting his arms where she needed them to be.

“What's with the antiquated robe design on these uniforms?” Harry said, confused. “I saw the occasional person wearing robes that looked a bit like coats, but this uniform is just weird.”

“Once upon a time everyone would dress in robes like these believe it or not,” Leia said easily, proving Harry's assumption about her interests correct. “Apparently it was around two hundred years ago or so that muggle fashion began to catch on. Not that anyone said it was muggle fashion, the pure-bloods would never have gone for that. Stupid cunts.”

“So ever since people have just been introducing muggle fashion as their own?” Harry asked, trying not to shuffle as Leia continued her work. He'd been briefly introduced to the bigotry present in magical society when McGonagall had explained his past.

“Nah, though that shit would have been funny to see,” Leia responded with a chuckle. “Magical folk got a real eye opener to muggle society when all of London was bombed to hell and back. Ever since some elements and ideas from muggles have seeped their way into our culture. Stuff like clothes, music, foods, you get the picture.”

“You learn about this stuff in History of Magic?” Harry questioned.

“Fuck me, I wish,” Leia said bluntly. “That class might be worth a damn if Binns talked about things like that instead of droning on about another damn goblin rebellion.”

Harry was suddenly less enthused about his upcoming history class given the girl's response. Whether it was due to the teacher or the course Harry wasn't sure, but it seemed that he'd have to do some self study if he wanted to learn about modern history. “So you know about this because -”

“Because it relates to clothes and clothes interest me, yeah,” Leia said, cutting Harry off. She was slowly walking around Harry inspecting the cut of the robes, hemming it further whenever she saw fit. “Well, music interests me too, even though that's not apart of my job.”

Harry suddenly smirked. “Let me guess, you were in a band, weren't you?”

“Yes, I was in a band. Yes, we broke up,” she said sullenly, her needle finding its way into his thigh once more.

“Ouch ouch ouch! I'm sorry, but it was just too cliché,” Harry was almost glad for the pain as it helped him not to laugh. He was certain that if he laughed he would've been stabbed. Again.

Leia shrugged as she resumed her work. “We were a cover band for The Cure, but in the magical world that's what over half the bands are.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Exactly what I said, in the magical world a band forms, they cover songs from the muggle world and then claim it as their own,” Leia said, her tone suggesting that she thought it obvious.

“Damn, I respect the hustle,” Harry said, impressed.

“Right?” Leia agreed. “Magicals and muggles live in largely separate societies. We have our own economies and laws. So fuck copyrights, make good music. If they could steal our shit, they would. Plus, the music really is good. Most bands that make it big aren't lazy, they just have covers alongside their original stuff.”

Harry honestly could not wait to listen to some of these bands. Maybe someone had gone and made The Beatles actually sound good. He knew it was almost a crime to dislike The Beatles, but he'd stood by his opinion since first he heard _Hey Jude_ on record, and every other album had just further solidified his belief.

“Aside from the magic there's not as much of a culture shock as I was expecting,” Harry said, fairly relieved.

“That's how it goes these days,” Leia said with a shrug. “There are still some differences between the two worlds, but it could be worse.

“You're a half-blood, aren't you?” Harry asked, he would bet money that he was right given all that Leia had said, not even counting her name or the reference it had become for her.

“Mhm,” Leia responded. “Dad the muggle-born wizard fell for Mum the cutest muggle in town. Ten months later, there I am.”

“So, do you want to become a designer or run a shop?” Harry asked. He vastly preferred small talk to silence and he had nothing else to say on the subject of Leia's birth.

“Merlin, a designer any day of the week,” Leia looked at Harry like he was an idiot. “What, do you think I want to spend the rest of my days hemming the clothes of brats getting ready for Hogwarts?”

Harry thought about what it must be like to spend the next 150 years performing the same task for thousands of children. “No, you're right. That sounds awful,” Harry agreed.

“Ugh, I want to die just thinking about it,” Leia said, shuddering at the thought alone. “Malkin's is a summer job, that's it.”

Leia stepped back away from Harry, giving him a final look over before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her work. “You want your shirt and pants to be hemmed too, or just the robes?” She asked.

“If they're hemmed won't I outgrow them in a few months?” Harry said, uncertain as to how exactly tailored clothes would fit him given he was still growing. Robes were one thing to swallow given how damn bulky they were. A button-up shirt and pants were another matter entirely. Not that he'd actually ever had tailored clothes before, but common sense seemed to suggest his question was a valid one.

“Nah, the enchantments tied into the clothes will help them resize to fit you. Within reason anyway,” Leia said. Harry was grateful she didn't make fun of his ignorance.

“You can tie enchantments into clothes too?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Our cotton comes from this specific farm in India that's situated in this region that has a lot of magical creatures and by extension magical saturation,” Leia explained. She was very well informed on her chosen profession. “If you tried to enchant muggle clothes the magic would rip the fibers apart.”

Leia tossed a shirt and pants towards Harry who just barely caught them after they hit him in the face. “Go put those on and then come back, I'll make sure they're fitted for you then you can get out of here,” Leia said as she started to write out his order.

“Leia, are you trying to get rid of me?” Harry said, mock hurt in his voice.

“Yes. Hurry up.”

Harry laughed at her blunt reply but still complied and went to put on the shirt and pants. It didn't take long for Leia to hem the clothes to his size, she was quite talented and their conversation had taken a far less probing turn. Throughout the whole process Harry kept trying to flirt with the girl but was cleverly rebuffed at every turn. Harry would have stopped had Leia not seemed to find his efforts amusing. What can he say, he liked it when pretty girls laughed.

“Alright, Evans, you're done,” Leia said with a contented sigh. “I'll take this order-slip to the boss-lady, come back here tomorrow to pick up your order. You can pay then.”

“Simple enough, thanks, Leia,” Harry said, smiling at the girl. “See you at Hogwarts.”

“Mhm, shove off now, please,” Leia responded bluntly.

“Try not to make any children cry, today!” Harry called back to the girl as he left. He steadfastly ignored the two fingers she threw his way.

The info Harry had gotten from Leia was beyond helpful. Even the goddamn clothes were magical. Harry made a beeline towards the clothing store he had caught sight of earlier in the day. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was going to wear boring old muggle clothes when a magical variety was available. If they could be enchanted to compensate for minor changes in size there's no saying what other common enchantments they might have!

“Carnall's Curious Clothes from a Companion's Closet,” Harry read the sign aloud. “Man, I cannot get over these names.”

Harry stepped into the store and in spite of the name found a rather fashionable clothing store, one that wouldn't stand out from any store in the muggle world. Sure, there were a few minor differences in style and some bands that no one in the muggle world would have ever heard of, but it was easily the most non-magical place he'd stepped into yet.

Harry spent the better part of the next hour purchasing an entirely new wardrobe. New shirts, new jeans, socks, boots, underwear, and of course new flannels. Magical clothes just felt softer and better fitting. A small part of Harry's brain wondered if it was just placebo, but the rest of Harry was now firmly a believer in whatever enchantments were placed on the clothes.

Having recruited one of the store's workers to hold onto all the purchases, Harry finally approached the counter with checkbook in hand.

“Haven't seen someone buy this many things in one go since the Greengrass sisters came through on their last birthday,” the clerk said, slightly dumbfounded.

“Let me guess, two rich teenage girls and a friend or two?” Harry said, amused at the comparison.

“Yeah, they must have purchased half the damn store between them all. You're rich but those girls were something else,” the clerk said, amazed.

Harry pulled out his quill and started filling out the check. “What was the total?”

“14 galleons, 16 sickles.”

Harry whistled in surprise, “Huh, less than I thought it would be.”

The clerk just stared at Harry, wide eyed. “14 galleons and he doesn't even care. I hate rich people,” he muttered to himself. Harry was quite certain he wasn't supposed to hear the clerk's comment but it came out clear as day nonetheless.

Someone else who had recently come into money might have been a bit more sympathetic to such comments but Harry wasn't a very sympathetic person. He snorted at the clerk as he stored his new clothes in his trunk. “I quite enjoy being rich,” Harry said snidely. “You should try it sometime,”

_That's twice in two days where I'm doing my best impression of a rich cunt... Am I just a rich cunt now?_

Harry mentally shrugged and determined that he didn't really care either way – which was in of itself cause for more self reflection. Harry again didn't really care but he shut down that endless cycle of thought before it could continue any further.

Harry approached one of the other employees he'd seen in the store, he was done with Mr Envious back there. It only took a few minutes to learn that yes, they did do custom orders. Said orders were erroneously expensive, would probably take a month to fulfill, but the order could be completed to whatever specifications were desired. Harry was sold. His fall and winter coat would be the exact same, only magical.

Harry then made his way over to Flourish and Botts, by far and away the largest seller of books Harry had seen in Diagon Alley. Inside were books of all varieties, stacked from the floor to the ceiling. Some of the books were as large as paving stones and bound in leather; some were covered in silk and only the size of postage stamps; some were decorated in strange symbols that Harry forgot about the moment he looked away, others still appeared to have nothing in them at all.

Harry had always loved books, but he knew he would have to return to this shop to peruse as many of these books as he was able. The staff at Flourish and Botts had the sense to have an entire section devoted to “Hogwart's Students”, which was conveniently separated by year. Eight books later and Harry had officially concluded his shopping for the upcoming school year.

_Between my schoolbooks and my family journals I won't be doing anything but reading. The price I pay, I guess._ Harry knew that being muggle-raised wasn't going to do him any favors. He was a good student, that wasn't even a question, but there were undoubtedly a million different things he was ignorant about that those raised in a magical society were intimately familiar with. 

Harry tried not to go overboard with his purchases, but he just couldn't help himself with each new title that caught his eye. _Modern Magical History_ by Orchid Inkwood. _Good and Evil; Light and Dark: What does Magic say about Morality?_ By Amon Staghart. _Reality and Other Falsehoods_ by Celia Lyre. _101 Charms to Make Your Life Easy_ by Alonzo Shore. Despite all the intriguing titles that Harry kept finding and planning to buy, one in particular wormed its way back into the forefront of his mind.

Harry approached the dark skinned woman that was tidying the store. “Hey, quick question if you don't mind.”

“Not at all, what do you need?” The woman returned.

“I'm looking for a book that someone recommended to me, it's called ' _The Disassembly of Reason'_ by Elan Morin Tedronai. I know it's fairly rare, but I was wondering if you'd heard of it?” Harry hated the way his heart sped up at the mere recollection of his conversation with Tom, but the man had referenced this book twice. Harry would be a fool to forget about it.

The woman stared at Harry with her eyes wide. “No, I've never heard of that book! And you haven't either! Make your purchases and go! Go!” The woman immediately stormed off towards a back room, casting a nervous glance back at Harry as she ran.

“What the fuck?” Harry said, unsettled by the woman's fearful reaction. _What kind of book did you tell me about, Tom?_

Harry had already made the choice that he wouldn't tell anyone about the mysterious man that introduced himself simply as Tom. His encounter beggared belief on its own, but there was something else that practically screamed at Harry to keep the entire experience to himself. He half suspected that Tom had placed some kind of spell on him to lead him to this conclusion, but until he was more versed in magic there was truly no way to tell.

After the woman's response to his question Harry resolved to not mention anything of what he learned from Tom to anyone else. As much as he wanted answers for the questions Tom had brought to light, he didn't know how others would react and that was dangerous. The woman had been terrified at the mere mention of the book, but perhaps it was the author that inspired such terror rather than the book itself?

It would certainly make sense why the book was rare if the author had committed some kind of atrocity in his day. The emotional mind would associate the book with the actions of its creator rather than viewing it objectively. Though it would also make sense to fear the book if the contents espoused dangerous ideas or rhetoric. What did that say about Tom then, he who had recommended the book above all others? What did that say about Harry, that he still wanted to find a copy and see for himself?

**OoooOoooO**

_'Thursday the 6 th of July, 1967_

_I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I got my wand! I can't describe how good it feels to finally have one of these to use! It was the most infuriating thing being able to read about these spells for so many years but unable to try casting them even once! I memorized the movements and incantations but that doesn't even begin to compare to actually casting magic! It's honestly difficult to describe – every spell feels like an extension of your own being. With MY magic I'm literally imposing MY will upon reality! It's surprisingly personal. I've had my wand for maybe five hours now but I already can't imagine my life without it!_

_Oh! I should describe my wand! Right, so it's ten and a quarter inches long (did I mention that the magical world uses the imperial system, it's weird), it's made from willow wood, and the core is whiskers from a wild Kneazle Ollivander apparently befriended when he visited South America years ago! I was a bit concerned at first about the core being Kneazle hair. In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Kneazle hairs were specifically referenced as a weak core for wands. I asked Ollivander (he's the guy who makes and sells wands for pretty much everyone in Britain), and according to him that's nothing more than a myth! I was so relieved. I know he could be lying to try and assuage my fears or something, but he seemed quite genuine to me. The rumor was apparently started by this wand-maker in France that insisted powerful wands must come from powerful creatures. Ollivander seemed rather vehement in his assertion to the contrary. In all of Britain there's no greater authority on the subject of wands than Ollivander. Maybe even all of Europe if the “since 382 B.C.” is to be believed._

_Oh! Sev got his wand too! His was cedar wood and the powdered fang of a runespoor. I don't know what the combination of materials say about either of our wands. Wand-lore is apparently a rather secretive field. Ollivander wouldn't say anything on the topic beyond the basics. I hope I can find a book on the subject somewhere, I'd love to know more about the tools that are so important to us and by extension our society._

_I showed Mum and Dad a spell or two that I thought I'd be able to perform, and I cast the spells perfectly! Mum and Dad looked so proud when I cast Lumos that I actually got a bit embarrassed. It's literally the first charm in the Standard Book of Spells. They're allowed to be impressed when I can wordlessly cast the spell while also changing the hue and intensity._

_Petunia left the room as soon as we started talking about magic, again. I know she's just jealous that I'm a witch and she's not, but I don't particularly care at this point. She's sixteen now – if she wants to be petty for the rest of her life at the cost of our relationship then whatever; I'm done trying to apologize for who I am! I'm done trying to be forgiven for the way I was born! Ugh! I get so fucking angry when I think about Petunia! She's my sister! She's supposed to be my best friend in the world but instead she's just a jealous bitch! I hope you're happy, Tuney! We were so close but you ruined that! You weren't happy that I had something you didn't and so you lashed out! That's not my fault! I'm not the one to blame! YOU ARE!_

_You are, damn it..._

_Why do I even bother? She'll never read this anyway. I start Hogwarts in two months. Petunia and I really will be done with each other then._

**OoooOoooO**

Harry stood in the shadowed entryway of a shop that had long since closed for the evening; the relative lack of floating lanterns near his location did wonders at hiding him from view of those walking past him on the nearby street. He didn't know magical London as well as he would like, not yet anyway – but that was going to change starting tonight. All he had to do was wait.

Knockturn Alley was the spurned younger sibling of Diagon Alley. Directly attached the cultural center of magical Britain was the capital of crime. Smuggled goods, dark artifacts, illegal potions, dangerous creatures, illicit gambling rings, outlawed services, and far, far more. If the magical world said it was bad then there was a good chance it could be found somewhere nestled within the twisted and spiraled streets of Knockturn Alley.

From what little information Harry had been able to pick up by listening to the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Knockturn Alley was the worst kept secret in the entire world. A known hub of criminal activity yet most of it was allowed to continue. The entire Alley was a permanent black stain on the British Ministry of Magic. Harry wasn't sure how brazen the denizens of the infamous Alley were in their disrespect for the law, but he intended to find out tonight. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and the darkest jeans he owned, Harry waited for the sun to finish its daily descent. Knockturn Alley didn't truly wake up until the moon claimed its rightful place in the sky.

The final rays of the sun dipped below the horizon and almost as if on queue Harry saw a heavily shrouded person make their way onto one of the many side-streets that connected the two Alleys. The individual walked in without any wand waving or spell cast, which was all the confirmation Harry needed. He followed after the individual and began making his way down the the curved steps.

Walking into Knockturn Alley gave Harry a brief pause as he was reminded of the rougher sides of Soho more than the bastion of criminality as he'd been led to believe. There were a scattered variety of bars and brothels that were immediately obvious to the eye, some seedy shops and hawkers peddling their wares. The streets were dirty, the people suspicious, the wanted posters that lined the brick walls numerous in number. It was clearly a rougher area than Diagon Alley, but nothing immediately caught Harry's eye that would provide such a negative reputation. Harry realized his meandering walk was getting him nowhere and so he stepped off to the side of the street. He tried to recall what he felt when he 'sensed' the magic of his vault, of Ollivander's shop, of the wands themselves – he reached out, as it were, trying to _feel_ any magic in the air or from the buildings. There was little doubt in his mind that these sprawling streets hid more than he could imagine.

At first he felt nothing but the breeze pulling at his hair, but at the very edge of his senses Harry felt _something_ lightly brush against him. If he hadn't already been focusing on trying to sense magic he would have missed its presence entirely, but Harry knew it was there. He could tell that someone was directing magic towards him. Harry broke off into a fast walk directly towards the source of what was cast at him. He couldn't sense any intent but the origin was quite clear.

Knockturn Alley never quite leveled off, each street was higher or lower in elevation than the last. So down Harry went in search of that which had been cast at him. Harry walked for almost ten minutes before he realized that something was wrong. He'd passed dozens of aged and decrepit buildings with the exact same structure and layout. That twisted lamppost on the corner. The tavern called “The Poison Apple.” Harry had walked passed these once, twice, three times over without ever changing direction at all. Harry instinctively drew his wand, even without knowing a single offensive spell it felt right to have the ebony wood in his hand.

Fog swirled in from every direction, surrounding Harry entirely. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face, he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing. Harry was entirely at the mercy of whomever had placed the illusion over him.

“What are you doing down here, boy?”

A rough hand and a far more rough voice pulled Harry from his stupor, from the illusion that had taken hold over his mind. The firm hand gripping his shoulder belonged to a middle aged man with close cropped blonde hair. Dressed in an all black suit only devoid of a tie, and a long dark brown duster made from a leather Harry had never seen. The man's eyes were a piercing blue with the rest of his features rugged and stern, clean shaven and utterly devoid of any emotion but suspicion. Harry would swear the man hadn't smiled in decades.

“Answer me, boy!”

Harry attempted to break the grip on his shoulder by jabbing the interior of the man's elbow, but long before his fist connected he felt magic swirl into his abdomen.

_“Ruinalum.”_

Harry felt his entire body go limp at once, a small part of him registered the way the magic _instantaneously_ permeated across every part of his being before his mind was consumed by the pain of his sudden impact with the stone pavement. No sooner had his face scraped against the rock when control returned to his limbs for only the briefest moment before the man waved his wand over Harry once more. Harry's limbs quickly snapped together of their own accord and so he was forced to lay face down on the ground, completely paralyzed, and at the mercy of a man who'd assaulted him out of the blue. Harry's eyes were all that were left free, and so he watched as the man waved his wand over Harry thrice more, muttering under his breath all the while. He nodded, seemingly in satisfaction as he snapped his fingers. Reality shattered as the dense fog Harry had been entrapped in fractured like glass, cascading down onto the ground without a single sound. Harry and the man were still in Knockturn Alley, right where Harry had walked earlier, the corner across from the twisted lamppost.

The man bent down and roughly hoisted Harry to his feet. “Prepare yourself, boy,” he said, and that was all the warning the still paralyzed Harry received before he felt the most uncomfortable physical sensation he could imagine. Darkness overtook his vision as an immense pressure suddenly pushed Harry from every single direction at once. His lungs collapsed as every ounce of air was forcibly expunged, his eyes were forced into the back of his skull, an iron grip seized his chest and crushed until every bone was on the verge of splintering. His limbs were still trapped at his sides, continually being forced to tighten more and more against his frame.

As suddenly as the sensation began, it was gone. The pressure immediately receded, leaving Harry only with the memory of what had just transpired. Harry collapsed to the ground once more but was thankfully able to use his hands to catch himself as he emptied his stomach on the ground.

“What – the – fuck?” Harry exclaimed as he dry-heaved, barely keeping himself aloft as his own sick pooled underneath him.

“First time apparition sucks for everyone. More so for side-along apparition. A body-bind curse on top of that must've been hell,” the dry tone of the man's voice sounded from behind Harry. There he stood, the same stern look on his features, the only change was the engraved silver case held in his hand. He slid it open and used two fingers to extract a single cigarette that he promptly stuck in his mouth.

“I'll ask again, what were you doing down in Knockturn Alley, boy?” Despite his words it was obvious the man was done asking.

“I was just – exploring the Alley,” Harry paused to spit the bile out of his mouth, his words still interrupted by his laborious breathing. “Didn't mean any – harm – why'd you – attack me?”

“You were just exploring, eh?” The man said as he took a seat on the stone ledge Harry could now identify as a rooftop. The man lit his smoke with a the small flame that sprung to life on the tip of his finger. Tom had used the same trick for his pipe. “And what the fuck made you think that was a smart thing to do?”

Harry desperately wanted to lie, but the words turned to ash before they ever reached his tongue. In his current condition he knew there was no way he'd be able to lie convincingly. “It sounded – interesting – heard about Knockturn – at the Leaky Cauldron – I was intrigued.” Harry continued to breathe deeply, from both the lingering nausea and the brief but no less potent memory of his lungs being entirely devoid of air. Harry never wanted to experience such a thing again.

“ _Remedium Ventris.”_ The man said, his wand briefly awhirl as smoke trickled out of his mouth.

Harry's nausea abruptly vanished, allowing him to focus on more than his own internal misery. Harry shakily stood to his feet, his hands clutching the stone for assistance. Harry noticed that they were on the rooftop directly above where he had been waiting to enter Knockturn just a bit earlier in the evening.

The man appeared to have not a care in the world as he lounged against the terrace, occasionally taking a drag. “Let me guess – you're a rough and tumble muggle-born kid that learns he's a wizard and thinks 'I can take the rough and tumble of the magical world too, no problem.' That about right?”

Harry flinched, the man wasn't exactly correct on the rationale, but he'd gotten the general sense of Harry's thought process almost to a tee. “Something like that,” Harry mumbled.

“Mhm, thought so. You aren't special, kid,” the man said. “Hell, I was the same way once upon a time. I thought I knew how to survive after growing up during the Great Depression.”

“Muggle-born too, then?” Harry asked, slightly disarmed by just how casual the man's demeanor was.

“Aye. The muggle world made me arrogant. There I was, sixteen years old, and I thought I was untouchable,” the man took a long drag and stamped out the butt. “I was wrong.”

Harry could see in the man's eyes that whatever had happened many years prior still haunted him.

“The name's Adrian Savage, kid,” the man said.

Harry refrained from providing his own name in turn. “Still cagey, eh?” Savage said, smirking at Harry. “That's fine, I don't need your name.”

“Then what do you need?” Harry demanded. The man was polite now, but he'd assaulted Harry just minutes prior. No true injuries but damn it all that combination of spells had felt awful!

“I'm an auror, kid. I hit you with that illusion shortly after you entered Knockturn Alley because I saw a kid that was about to get himself in more trouble than he could handle.”

“An auror?” Harry had offhandedly heard the term used in association with law enforcement but little else. “What, like a police officer?”

The man snorted. “No, not like the police,” Savage smiled wryly. “Think of aurors as agents that are highly educated, trained, and with far, far less red tape to hold us down than the police officers you're used to. Any brat with a wand can become an officer at Ministry Security. Those half decent at combat can become a hit-wizard. But aurors are the best of the best.”

“So what's the best of the best doing grabbing a teenager off the streets?” Harry said, disgruntled.

“I was in the area, killing some time before I was set to meet an associate. And then I see a brat waltz right into Knockturn Alley without a care in the world,” Savage scoffed. “That's a good way to end up as potions parts or get turned into a vampire's thrall.”

Harry barely held back a shudder at the thought of being turned into ingredients. He guessed that Savage was exaggerating so as to scare him, but he couldn't rule out the possibility that the man was being truthful. Harry had seen numerous parts from other creatures advertised, it only made sense that there would be a use for human organs as well.

“So you're saying that everyone that goes down there risks death?” Harry said, his skepticism obvious.

“No, I'm saying ignorant little shits that haven't even been to Hogwarts should avoid potentially dangerous areas they know nothing about!” Savage responded, he was still calm but there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice.

Harry was forced to acknowledge that the man had a point. It could've just as easily been someone with more malicious intent that grabbed him. “Point made,” Harry said begrudgingly. “Can I go now?” The stern man may be right but Harry wasn't about to stick around and chat.

Savage chuckled even while maintaining his stern demeanor, it was strangely disconcerting. “Yeah, you can go,” he said. He waved his wand toward the edge of the building as he spoke more of the words Harry had come to realize were spells. “ _Funem Videal,”_ A surprisingly firm rope ladder materialized before Harry's eyes.

Harry nodded at the auror but said nothing else as he began climbing down the side of the building. The words of Adrian Savage lodged inside his brain. Harry knew that he had been reckless, pointlessly so, and that bothered him. High on his introductory to magic, even his unsavory encounter with Tom hadn't been enough to sober him to the dangers of the new world he found himself in, not truly anyway. He honestly wasn't sure if his encounter with the auror had either.

“Hey, kid!” The voice of the auror called down to Harry as he finished climbing down. Harry turned to look at the man but still remained mute. “You have good instincts, I'll give you that. Curb that ego, hit the books, and I bet you'll do well.” A small pop sounded off and Auror Adrian Savage was gone.

Harry stared at the ledge Savage had just vanished from, dumbfounded. “He wants _me_ to curb my ego?” Harry scoffed. “Pot meet kettle.”

Harry knew he was a bit egotistical, but it wasn't the place of others who were clearly full of themselves to point that out to him. Harry would accept censure from very few people, one of which was Jesus, but apparently that guy was just a wizard, so the already small list was shrinking.

Harry began his walk back towards the center of Diagon Alley where he could at least use the clock-tower to judge the time. He was terrible at trying to ascertain how much time had passed using only his perception. Harry shoved the fact that his evening was a colossal failure to the back of his mind. He'd return to Knockturn Alley when he knew more. Just let Savage try and stop him then.

Diagon Alley was quite a different beast at night when compared to the day. Numerous floating lanterns hovered over the streets, casting a warm glow over the Alley. Most of the shops were closed, but certain stalls and stands remained open to sell both their services and goods. The restaurants he saw open were busy with their night-time dinner rush and serving drinks to those who needed them. It was well past ten o'clock and still the street bustled with life.

Distracted by the atmosphere of the Alley, Harry didn't notice the girl in front of him until he'd already bumped into her. Harry quickly rotated his body out of the way to avoid knocking the girl over as he tumbled to the ground. The girl in question stumbled for a brief moment but was able to remain on her feet with little difficulty. Harry shrugged off the pain of falling to the stone for the second time that day, an experience he was eager to not repeat for a third time.

Harry looked up to apologize to the girl he'd almost bowled over when his breath caught in his throat. This girl was _gorgeous._ She had to be around his age, big brown eyes and full lips, a cute slightly turnt up nose. Her features were soft and complimented beautifully by her black hair, styled in a tousled bob cut. Dressed in a sleeveless gray dress that cut off mid-thigh, the brown straps matching her calf boots perfectly. A brown and white patterned scarf with one tail lingering between her modest bust while the other trailed down her back. A layered necklace that tied the outfit together along with big hoop earrings. Harry couldn't remember a time when he was so enraptured by a girl's looks.

“Watch where you're walking, you idiot!” The girl shrieked.

Of course the gorgeous girl was a bitch. Lovely. “My bad, my bad,” Harry gave her his most charming grin as he stood up. “How about you let me make it up to you?”

“Get stuffed, you brute, I have somewhere to be!” The girl responded, quite rudely in Harry's opinion.

“Well, I won't keep you then,” Harry said with a small sigh. Even if she was one of the most beautiful girls he'd met, he wasn't going to pester her for a date, especially since it was obvious the girl had more than a bit of an attitude. “If I could just get your name so I know who it is I should be apologizing to?” Harry did genuinely consider himself at fault for running into the girl given how much he'd zoned out, her own attention to where she was walking not withstanding.

The girl looked as if she was about to walk away, but stayed after appraising Harry for a brief second. He chose to believe it was because she thought he was cute. “Pansy Parkinson,” she said briskly.

“Well then,” Harry said as he placed one arm across his body with the other extended to the side, bowing ever so slightly in the girl's direction, “allow me to offer my apologies for bumping into one as gorgeous as you, Miss Parkinson.” Harry almost added more flattery but stopped himself at the last second. He wasn't about to prostrate himself before this girl even if she was exceedingly attractive.

Pansy's eyes lingered on his own as he rose from his bow. “Apology accepted,” she murmured quietly. She seemed to be studying him, a slightly perplexed look on her face. “What's your name?” She asked.

“Harry Evans.”

Pansy offered a sharp nod to him and turned to leave. “See you around, Harry.” She said simply.

Harry unashamedly watched her walk away until she rounded a bend, and he was happy to see she glanced back at him as she did so. Getting to talk to a gorgeous girl like that more than made up for getting roughed up by an auror, admittedly an auror that was trying to teach him a good lesson.

Harry made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron to grab some dinner before the clock struck midnight. Tom had explained that he didn't serve any cooked food past that time and Harry wasn't going to miss out on whichever cook was running the kitchen tonight, Harry had only tried Alfie's cooking so far, but Luca had sworn to him that they were all incredible.

Harry enjoyed his dinner as he sat alone at the bar, occasionally chatting with Tom about this or that, but it was mostly small-talk and a way to pass the time rather than engaging conversation. Harry wasn't the only patron at this hour, far from it in fact, but the atmosphere was a fair bit more subdued than the previous day. Evenings that featured quidditch games clearly helped drive a lot of extra business into the aged tavern.

Harry adjourned to his room and took a seat at the desk he'd already prepared earlier in the day. He picked up the quill and flipped open the empty journal to the first blank page.

_The journal of Harry Evans_

_Thursday the 4 th of July, 1991_

_Well, here we go, I guess. I've never written down my thoughts like this before, but it seems to be something my ancestors have done for millennia, and it was something that my mum did, so I guess I'd like to continue the tradition. I know there's not one way you're supposed to journal, it's just something personal, but man is it weird. It's like I'm writing a letter to myself, or taking notes on experiences I lived. Bizarre to say the least, but I've already written this much so I know I can do it, so I might as well continue. Who knows, maybe one of my descendants will read this in four hundred years. That could actually be pretty cool._

_Where to start... okay, so two days ago I learned I that magic was real, that I'm a wizard, the names of my parents, the fact that I have a twin brother, that both of my parents were murdered, that my twin brother somehow stopped this murderer, I have living family in the form of godparents, one of which is a murderer, oh, and I'm seriously rich. Yeah, that was a day and a half..._


	6. Chapter 6

_“I promise you, you don't want to know what it's like. Magic of the truly dark variety isn't as simple to cast as one might expect. Just as the Patronus charm necessitates the caster recall happy or joyful thoughts, dark magic requires the inverse – thoughts of a far more iniquitous variety. You have to be willing to twist your own magic into such a depraved and vicious state that pain and suffering outweigh all other results. And then, after you successfully cast such malevolent spells, the euphoria that washes over blinds you to the atrocity you've inflicted upon yourself... Dark magic is incredibly addictive – even now I feel its seductive call imploring me to succumb to the corruption that still taints my very soul.” -Albus Dumbledore to Minerva McGonagall during a late night discussion on magic. January, 1951_

**Chapter 6:**

Harry Evans stared down at the tear-stained letter he'd thrown onto the desk in frustration. It had landed among the birthday cards and sweets he'd left on his desk for the past two weeks. Harry had read the crumpled paper well over twenty times in the last few days, trying to decide if he should even bother showing up to the reunion he'd been asked to attend. Alice Longbottom and Daniel Potter would be waiting at a private table at The Nook, a small coffeehouse located in Diagon Alley, at Two o'clock on the 17th of August. Today was the 16th and Harry had absolutely no clue if he was going to go or not.

Harry sighed and drew his wand. _“Wingardium Leviosa,”_ he said quietly, watching contentedly as the crumpled piece of parchment gently rose into the air.

If Harry was going to agonize over his decision he might as well multitask and practice his control. The study of magic had consumed the majority of Harry's time over the last month. He'd already read through the first ten chapters of all his textbooks; glanced through the entirety of his additional Charms book and earmarked those that were high priority to learn; finished reading through _Modern Magical History;_ and he was on chapter seven of _Reality and Other Falsehoods._

The study of magic had been different when compared to anything Harry had studied in the past, and that was putting it lightly. A subject that contained both theoretical and practical elements, Harry quickly came to realize that he was a dab hand at both.

That's not to say that either aspect was easy though. To the contrary, the theoretical elements of potions and ingredients was especially complex. The sheer number of combinations and factors that could affect the product was baffling. Harry knew that he'd never be able to memorize all of them even if he had a lifetime to devote to that single purpose. Beyond that, there was an acknowledged dearth of information on a number of different ingredients thanks to the scientific method utterly failing to provide information. Potions was a science that only artists could master – Harry found it maddening.

The textbooks that focused on spells cast from the wand were largely just instruction manuals. There were brief histories and descriptors, but by and large it was instructions and diagrams detailing how to cast specific spells. Harry did pick up on the occasional reference to Arithmancy, usually in relation to the whys and hows of wand-movements and their associated incantations. He resolved then to pick up an introductory textbook on the subject sooner rather than later. Hogwarts may not offer the class until third year, but it didn't hurt to get an early start.

The theoretical elements of magic discussed in his first year books were odd in that literally everything was treated as just that, theory. _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling was an entire textbook devoted to the subject, but even the author acknowledged how little he truly knew.

_'I have devoted my life to the study of magic and all of her properties. In my early research I was arrogant enough to believe that I had discovered laws of magic – there are no laws of magic, not truly. If we have found limitations in our ability to actualize our wills using magic then that is the fault of we the mage, not magic itself._

_With that said, our understanding of magic is the collective work of thousands of years of study. Magic may not be limited by rules, but we as finite beings most certainly are. That which we treat as laws are not laws of magic, but laws of witches and wizards.'_

The author had then launched into an examination of basic theory and how it applied to every facet of wizarding magic, but Harry had already begun to wonder if Waffling was correct. Tom's words had seemingly contradicted the celebrated theoretician. Harry did not have access to the apparently taboo book recommended by Tom, but he couldn't deny the nagging suspicion that it would serve as an interesting counter to Harry's school text. In lieu of any proof to his gut suspicions, Harry nevertheless resolved to study the assigned books diligently.

The practical side of magic brought nothing to Harry but pure, unadulterated joy. Many of his textbooks had made note of the difficulties associated with casting spells but Harry had experienced almost none of them firsthand. He had occasionally messed up the pronunciation of a spell, or his wand movements were off – but to identify and fix these errors was far from the most arduous task. Continuously casting magic was a tiring endeavor, but the act of literally channeling his magic was almost effortless. Harry could scarcely describe the satisfaction he felt when he essentially made reality his bitch; even when it was something so simple as an illumination spell.

Harry leapt to his feet with a start. He'd become so engrossed in the books he'd purchased that he'd somehow neglected the first book on magic he'd purchased. _We Who Sense_ was in his hands in a flash. The small brown book was even smaller than he first thought. Less than a hundred pages in its entirety, still diminutive in size, with thick writing.

_'There are many inborn magical abilities and traits present in our world, but none quite so useful or subtle as Sensing. Any common witch or wizard can pick up on the traces left behind by powerful or particularly heavy magic, especially that which is dark. Sensing goes far, far further. Sensing magic manifests in many different ways, not all of it pleasant._

_Some Sense using their eyes. Magic takes on animated shapes and colors that only they can decipher. One blue line will be indicative of a charm to summon bats, another blue line will cause internal bleeding, while the yellow line will actually turn one blue. In all my research I have found no consistency on what it is these Sensors see. The same ward will look entirely different to two different Sensors, yet both will describe its intended effects and purpose perfectly. Visual Sensors, as they are colloquially known, are unfortunately quite sensitive to that which they can perceive._

_A young witch writing a book on just what she saw when she looked upon magical creatures sought to gaze upon a Dementor. As directed, the creature pulled down its hood and the young witch screamed in terror. She fled the scene and returned to her home, a home she never left again. She would never describe what she saw, only that it was “too terrible for words.” She took her own life less than a month later._

_A young wizard from France once wrote about the beauty and elegance he saw in the magic of Beauxbatons Academy and so sought to gaze upon all of the academies of magic. Hogwarts was to be the start of his journey, it would also be the end. Hogwarts School drove the man insane. Until the end of his days the man would spend his every waking moment attempting to understand that which he saw. His writings were numerous in number and completely unintelligible._

_To myself and many others Sensing manifests as a metaphysical sixth sense. We feel the existence and presence of magic in a fashion that is indescribable to those who cannot pick up on this sense. We can evaluate and assess the intent of magic, the will behind its creation on this mortal plane. We gain an almost intrinsic understanding of our own magic and how it is cast, as we've felt its presence, conscious thought or no, for the entirety of our lives.'_

Harry almost slapped himself for his failure to return to this book the day Ollivander sold it to him. He and the author, Ashier Mi You, were clearly the same type of sensor. Harry had only been aware of magic for a month, but he couldn't fathom being unable to sense it. The ease at which he channeled his magic into spells was due to the fact that he was intimately more aware of what his magic felt like.

Harry didn't move from his seat for hours as he read Ashier Mi You's book from start to finish. The man or woman, as the author had never properly established their identity, acknowledged that it was quite the esoteric field of magic. Sensing was not a muscle to be developed through repeated use alone; Harry could spend years sensing magic as he had been for the last month and not improve at all. Ashier Mi You had recommended a practice that somewhat resembled meditation. To find a location either saturated in magic or where magic was used frequently – and to spend hours truly delving into whatever one senses.

Harry knew that his room would likely suffice for his needs, but he had a better spot in mind. Harry navigated his way through the evening crowds and took a seat on one of the many benches that dotted the plaza. Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on the many, many sources of magic around him. Identifying that magic was literally all around him was no trouble at all, but delving deeper was a rather abstruse venture. _Every_ single one of them was unique, but to Harry they were wholly indecipherable.

For now.

Learning to sense was just another daily task to add to the list. Harry's life of late had been entirely consumed by the study of magic. The sheer wonder of the supernatural drove him in ways that nothing else ever had. He didn't expect the almost religious fervor in which he studied to continue for _too_ long, but for now it was far too exciting to not do so.

Harry wished that his interest in magic was the only factor that drove him, but to claim as much would be a lie. Try as he might, Harry could not expunge the bitterness that had taken hold within him. Harry didn't care that Daniel Potter was raised around magic; that he always had access to money and resources – Harry refused to lose to him.

The emotions Harry felt for his younger twin were complicated. Even without having met him in person Harry was confident that he already felt familial love for his brother. Family was important. Explaining why he felt as he did was an exercise in futility, but such were his emotions. But while hate was the furthest thing he felt for his younger brother; what Harry did hate was the thought that others would look upon him as lesser than his twin. Worse yet was the thought that they may look upon him with pity.

The solution was simple: Harry would never give them the chance to. If that meant he had to spend day after day absorbed in his books then so be it. The study of magic wasn't exactly that steep of a price.

**OoooOoooO**

_“What are you reading this time, dear?”_

_“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.”_

_“Oh? That wasn't on your assigned list, was it?”_

_“No Dad, but it did strike me as a rather interesting read; plus it's a required book starting third-year according to the woman at the shop.”_

_“Well that's perfect, so you won't object to me reading through A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration again?”_

_“Dad, that will be the fourth time in as many weeks.”_

_“Well, I'm sorry, Hermione, but it just doesn't make sense.”_

_“It's magic, Dad. I don't know why you expect it to fall in line with the principle of mass conservation.”_

_“Now you're just quoting your mum.”_

_“It's because she's right.”_

_“You're only assuming she's right. We don't know for certain if magic has been properly vetted by science. I only think it's presumptuous to assume that magic falls outside of the laws that govern our universe just because it appears so at a glance.”_

_“Haven't you already made the exact opposite assumption?”_

_“It's no secret that I'm more inclined to a scientific explanation, Hermione. That's why I'm looking for evidence of my assumption.”_

_“You know you're looking in an introductory text-book, right?”_

_“Um-”_

_“One meant for teenagers no less.”_

_“Okay, you have a point.”_

_“I was quoting Mum again.”_

_“I just don't understand what our lives have become, Hermione. My eyes have been opened to a world beyond that which I've always known, but I'm stuck viewing it from the periphery.”_

_“Are you sad that you're not a wizard?”_

_“A bit, Hermione, yeah. I grew up reading the works of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis after all; as a boy my friends and I would get together and pretend we were fighting off evil using swords and magic. We would all return home wishing it could be real.”_

_“And now?”_

_“And now it is real – just not for me. It's been a rather bitter pill to swallow, honestly. Magic was always there, I simply wasn't allowed to know about it.”_

_“I'm sorry, Dad.”_

_“No, Hermione. Don't do that. I don't ever want you apologizing for such a wonderful gift. Your mum and I are both so happy for you.”_

_“Thanks. Should we go back to Flourish and Botts to buy some more books on magical theory so you can learn more?”_

_“Yes! But let's ask your mother if she wants us to pick her up anything as well.”_

_“I saw her reading through my drafts and potions textbook while cross-referencing it with One Thousand Herbs and Fungi. Should we pick up an advanced potions manual?”_

_“She does have a degree in Biochemistry; I'm not surprised that she'd be interested in that subject more so than the others. We'll find her something.”_

_“I will be reading in the car, just so you're aware.”_

_“You always read in the car, Hermione.”_

**OoooOoooO**

Harry walked into The Nook without any hesitation in his step. Impassive in the face of his upcoming reunion, nothing about his demeanor so much as hinted at the anxiousness he felt welling within. He was about to meet his family.

Harry had settled on going because he refused to be seen as running away from meeting the family who'd sent him off. While it was undeniable that he felt some lingering hostility, Harry was doing his best to squash such emotions. The past was the past, he wanted to leave it there.

The Nook was a chic little coffeehouse but there was nothing extraordinary about it. A month ago Harry would've been mesmerized by all the little displays of magic, but such wonders had already become a normal aspect of his day-to-day life.

Harry glanced around trying to catch sight of his planned company. He started when he noticed his twin sitting at a corner table. On an intellectual level Harry knew he had a twin, so he was very well aware of all that was potentially entailed by the existence of said twin, but that did not prepare him for what it was like to see his doppelganger on the other side of the room.

Daniel Potter had almost the exact same bone structure and build as Harry; the way Daniel sat at the table left Harry feeling as if he were looking in a mirror. It was the most uncanny thing he'd every experienced. The two twins would still be easily told apart though given the respective state of their hair: Harry's was still an untamed and wild mess that reached his shoulders. Each day was a battle to try and have a decent part so it wasn't falling over his eyes every second; Harry was well aware that he ought to just give in and either cut it or buy some hair ties. Daniel on the other hand had shorter hair in an intentionally messy, windswept style that worked really well in Harry's opinion. While it was far from neat, but it didn't appear to be quite as uncontrolled as Harry's own.

Daniel was also sporting a thin pair of wire-frame glasses with circular rims. Harry was surprised by just how well the glasses fit Daniel's face, somehow adding to the easy going and laid back aura the teen seemed to give off. Harry couldn't help it when his eyes flitted to his brother's forehead in search of the infamous scar – a scar that was mysteriously absent. The two brothers were dressed almost identically, a pair of faded jeans and a worn t-shirt.

Harry had yet to be noticed so he turned his gaze over to the woman sitting next to Daniel. Alice Longbottom was a stunningly beautiful woman with chocolate brown hair that carried a rather distinct wave but cut off at just above her shoulders. Her smile was the kind that could light up a room; even from a distance it practically radiated warmth and joy, especially when she looked at Daniel. Tendrils of both anger and longing pulled at Harry's heart as he watched the display of motherly love – love that he had not truly known since he was a toddler.

Alice's smile abruptly faded when she noticed Harry standing across the room, stoically observing from his place against the wall. The woman gasped as her hands leapt towards her mouth at the same time that Daniel became aware of his estranged twin. Harry steeled himself as he walked towards his now elated younger brother. As Harry reached the table it was easy to see the tears pooling in Alice's eyes. Tears of guilt born from being absent for almost fifteen years, or tears of joy at those years being over, Harry wasn't sure there was a difference.

There were no heartfelt embraces as the three stood around the table that Harry now noticed had some kind of charm to block out most of the sound from the rest of the coffeehouse. The silence between them was easily the most uncomfortable experience Harry had ever had the displeasure to be apart of – and damn it all it had already gone on long enough.

“Daniel, right?” Harry said, face blank as he extended his hand towards his fellow teen.

Daniel smiled broadly, in his mind the ice was broken with only two words. “Hell yeah! Long time no see, Harry!” Daniel grabbed Harry's forearm and pulled him into a brotherly hug.

For a brief moment Harry was still, his other arm held awkwardly out to the side as he was unsure of whether or not to return the affectionate embrace. That brief moment passed in a flash when Harry recalled just who this was. His brother. His twin. The one person Harry should have never been away from before, reunited after fifteen years. There was nothing else he could do but return the hug with a grin of his own.

“Long time no see, little brother,” he responded warmly. Harry slowly pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at his twin. While it wasn't quite like looking in a mirror, Harry was still blown away by just how similar they looked. Though Harry was pleased to learn that he stood an inch or two taller than his younger twin.

Harry then turned towards the woman next to them, watching the reunion with her mouth covered and tears pooling in her eyes. “Alice then?” Harry asked, his voice noticeably cooler than his address to Daniel.

Alice nodded as her hands slowly fell away from her face, the tears now gently cascading down her cheeks. “I can't believe you're actually here,” she murmured softly, her arms moving as if to hug Harry before she stopped herself, hesitant in her actions.

Harry didn't respond to the woman as he took a seat at the small table. He gestured towards the still full and steamy cup of coffee and turned towards Daniel. “This for me, I take it?”

While momentarily put off by the frosty interaction between Harry and Alice, Daniel quickly rebounded as claimed his own chair. “I went ahead and ordered us all something, took a guess at what you might like. If you don't like it we'll get something else though, no biggie.”

“I'm sure its fine,” Harry waved off Daniel's offer. “I've learned not to be picky.”

Alice seemed to withdraw in on herself even further with Harry's comment. He didn't grow up destitute by any means, but it wasn't a lie that he learned to appreciate what he could get. If Alice felt guilty over that then Harry wasn't about to assuage those feelings. For as emotionally downtrodden as the woman seemed though, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't normally this meek in the slightest. Whether it was his abilities as a sensor or simply his proficiency at reading people Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't help but draw a likeness from Alice to Adrian Savage.

The more Harry reflected on that evening the more impressed he was by the stern auror. There was never a moment in their confrontation when the man hadn't been in complete control. Savage had been so self assured in his actions and intuition; his words of censure to Harry seemingly taking less effort than smoking a cigarette. Somehow, despite the emotional distress she clearly felt, Alice Longbottom struck Harry in a similar way.

Daniel smiled uncertainly at Harry's comment, but endeavored on. “Alright Harry, let's skip the small-talk yeah? I can learn your favorite color another time. Tell me about you!”

Harry laughed at his brother's joyful enthusiasm; it was all the affirmation he needed on how he planned to treat Daniel. “That's hardly fair asking me to start, but alright,” Harry paused wondering how much he should share. _Ah, fuck it._ Harry mentally shrugged, might as well have some fun.

“Spent most of my life in London after the Dursleys kicked my ass to the curb,” Harry shared bluntly. The widening of eyes was rather satisfying to see. “Got thrown into foster care right quick, but that was actually a stroke of good fortune since my guardian for the next few years wasn't exactly what one would call the authoritative type.”

Daniel seemed to have an inkling where this was going and had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Wait, so you could pretty much do whatever you wanted?” He asked, slightly awed.

“To a point, yeah,” Harry said with a laugh. “Remind me to tell you this story about last winter, when I started the night in London but woke up 14 hours later missing one shoe, my shirt but not my jacket, and I was in Bedford!”

“Wicked,” Daniel was amazed at his elder brother's tale.

Alice on the other hand looked as if she couldn't decide whether she should be scandalized or just amused. “You're just like James,” she murmured, but Harry heard her clear as day.

“Tell me about him,” Harry said, the first words he'd actually spoken to the woman aside from confirming her identity. “I've been reading my mum's journals every day for the past month, but if James has any I haven't read them yet. So right now I know nothing about him besides his name.”

Harry was surprised by how much Alice seemed to perk up when addressed by him. She was definitely the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. “James Potter was an ass,” Alice began with a small laugh. “We were all in the same year, your mum, dad, and I – Frank was two years older. James was the biggest braggart around, so cocky and self assured. He was honestly a bit of a bully at times, especially to certain students.”

Harry listened without saying a word, eager to hear more of his father from someone who knew him personally. Despite the exceedingly blunt words, Alice still spoke of the man with fondness.

“For the first five years that we knew him there wasn't a day that went by without James flirting with Lily and her calling him a 'toe-rag' in return. I never did learn what that was supposed to mean,” Alice trailed off with a slight chuckle as she slowly stirred her coffee.

Daniel was leaning back in his seat listening to Alice speak, but it was obvious these stories weren't new to him. Harry was intently hanging on Alice's every word, just happy to learn more about the parents he'd never get to meet.

“James was a huge flirt and he made no secret of that, I'd swear that until sixth year he'd made it his mission to charm the panties off every girl he could, and that included me until I started dating Frank.” Daniel started choking at that – he'd apparently not heard that story before; or he just wasn't used to the woman who raised him talking about guys trying to get into her pants. Harry mentally saluted his father as he physically patted his brother on the back.

“Oh, relax, Daniel. James and I never slept together,” Alice revealed as she took a sip of her drink. Harry couldn't stop his mind from noting that she could just be dodging the truth using wordplay.

“Can we please not talk about your sex lives when you were all in school?” Daniel pleaded with the woman who raised him.

Both Harry and Alice laughed at that; his opinion of the woman was quickly rising even in spite of the issues he had with her. She was simply a likable person. Daniel flushed at the laughter directed his way, and Harry saw the perfect opportunity to behave as all big brothers should. It was time to embarrass his younger sibling.

“Virgin,” Harry whispered, a downright conniving grin on his face as he teased the sibling he'd known for all of five minutes.

Daniel, who was already lightly flushed, went completely red in the face. Harry couldn't believe the resemblance in color to a beet. Oh he would kill to have a camera right about now.

“Like you aren't!” Daniel exclaimed indignantly.

Harry's cock-sure smile was the only response required.

“I call bollocks!” Daniel challenged, disbelief all over his features as he pointed his finger accusingly towards the brother he was convinced was lying.

Harry raised a single eye-brow, his grin almost predatory as he prepared to shatter his oh so little brother's expectations. “June of last year, a buddy of mine named Jonah invited myself and around ten others over to his place while his parents were out of town. Ashley Miller and I shared a bottle of vodka and by the end of the night we were fucking on top of the sheets in the upstairs bedroom.”

Harry had the story down to a tee. It only made sense given that he recounted it to anyone willing to listen – he was rather proud of the experience after all. What he tended to leave out was the fact that half of the night was a blur, and that he passed out shortly after finishing. Ashley was long gone when he woke up; but she'd been willing to sleep with him again since that time so he assumed he wasn't complete rubbish when it came to sex.

There was also the slight detail that Jonah had access to a number of unflattering pictures of Harry's naked ass alone on the bed – taken when Harry had still been out cold. Harry was very well aware of these pictures because every single one of his friends within that social circle never failed to make mention of them in his company. In spite of some of the more embarrassing details, Harry had a simple and oft repeated mantra that kept him in good spirits: _Doesn't matter, had sex._

“Merlin, it's like I'm speaking with James again,” Alice said, laughing lightly at the thought of her long deceased friend.

Daniel just seemed shocked that Alice wasn't trying to censure Harry at all, his mouth agape as he locked eyes with his godmother. “You took away my broom for a month because you discovered my stash of PlayWizards but you laugh at Harry's story! What gives?”

“I took away your broom because you tried to hide them inside your mattress after cutting it open,” Alice responded. “You're a teenage boy, Daniel – I'd be concerned if you weren't looking at porn. I just wanted you to not break things while trying to hide the evidence.”

Harry nodded along sagely. “She's right, Daniel. Your sex drive is perfectly normal – healthy even; but destroying your possessions...” Harry trailed off with a slight shake of his head. He had officially determined that teasing little brothers was far more fun than teasing literally anyone else.

“That's fucked up,” Daniel said bluntly.

“Language,” Harry and Alice both chided. Harry's poker face held up against Daniel's incredulity beautifully.

“You're evil, Harry,” Daniel grumbled, slumped over in defeat.

“The evil older brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, huh?” Harry mused. “Yeah, I think I could roll with that. Might even explain why I was sent away for almost fifteen years.”

Harry felt some measure of satisfaction as Alice flinched back. Their conversation had been nothing but enjoyable thus far, but Harry held no illusions in regards to his lingering resentment.

“Easy there, Harry – you have every right to be upset but please hear her out, okay?” Daniel implored, his voice calm as he tried to placate the suddenly far more tense atmosphere surrounding the three.

“Upset isn't exactly the word I'd use,” Harry said tersely. If they wanted to hash things out here, he was more than ready to begin.

“Okay, but-”

Alice interjected her godson as she placed a hand on his arm. “Daniel, would you please give me a few minutes alone with Harry?” She turned towards him, her hand lightly squeezing as she implored him to comply. “Please?”

Daniel rose from his seat, all of his arguments falling to the wayside as he caught sight of Alice's eyes. He'd never seen her quite like this. “Yeah, sure thing, Mum. I'll be back in a few.” He claimed his drink and adjourned to an empty armchair on the other side of the coffeehouse. Even his eyes averted from the two so as to give them some measure of privacy.

Silence blossomed between Harry and Alice. The bitter teen was more than content to let the woman stew in her guilt. He waited as over a minute passed, not making so much as a single sound until the exact moment he saw Alice finally muster enough courage to speak.

“He called you 'Mum',” Harry said impassively.

Alice could only nod, her voice stolen by Harry's pointed words.

“I suppose I should thank you, you know? For taking care of my little brother for all these years. That's what a good big brother would do, right? They would thank the godmother for doing as she promised to do.” Harry's voice almost broke as the feelings of abandonment he'd harbored since he was six years old finally had an outlet.

“Daniel grew up with a family. He's always known what it's like to have a home. He was safe. Protected. Loved. He was an orphan but he still had a mum. I should thank you, right?”

Alice just sat there, silently sobbing as Harry continued to hurl questions that she knew had no good answers.

Harry's words were still in the same conversational tone he'd kept since he first greeted his estranged family. His anger wasn't the explosive fury of one raging against an injustice – it was tempered and cooled. A wrath born from resignation and spite.

“I wish I could thank you – I really do. Daniel seems like a great kid. Happy and well cared for. But I can't thank you, can I?"

Alice shook her head no, electing to remain silent in the face of Harry's frigid query.

“No, I can't. Because unlike Daniel, I was tossed away like trash.”

Alice violently balled her fists, her nails almost drawing blood from her own palm. Harry could tell she wished to protest his harsh choice of words but he didn't care. It was cruel, but right now he only wanted to hurt her.

“You couldn't be bothered with me so you tossed me to the Dursleys. They couldn't be bothered with me so they tossed me to the state system. I couldn't even tell you how many foster homes I was moved between until I landed on Beth's door. It took a woman in her 50s running a foster home for me to even feel an ounce of comfort or care!”

Harry stopped to catch his breath, by the end he'd risen halfway off his seat to loom over the table. He had always heard that it was cathartic to speak your mind. That airing his grievances would help alleviate the pain he had buried within his heart. Well he'd done it, so why did he feel so hollow? Why was the pain of abandonment still there?

“May I speak?” Alice asked softly as her tears continued to fall.

Harry slumped back down in his chair and acquiesced with a small nod.

“There is _nothing_ I can say that will ever excuse my decision to not raise you as if you were my own,” Alice's said, her words resolute as she slowly reached out a hand towards Harry. “But please, please don't think we tossed you away like trash!”

“What am I supposed to think?” Harry said, leaning forward to glare at Alice. “You left me with Petunia Dursley and her fat, fucking, whale of a husband! I've read my mum's journals! Petunia has been a spiteful bitch since they were kids!”

“She'd changed, Harry – at least we thought she had! Lily's death almost broke her when she learned what happened, but the chance to raise you and keep you safe was a silver lining! A way to repay the years of bitterness and hate between her and Lily.”

“Then why'd they abandon me? What's your excuse for that? It took five years for Petunia to show her true colors then, is that it?” Harry had told himself that he didn't care to hear answers or justifications, but when finally confronted with the opportunity he just couldn't resist.

“We didn't realize what the Dursleys had done for almost three years... that was how long it took for the wards to fall apart,” Alice explained, the guilt in her voice almost palpable. “The Dursleys gave you up after you had a powerful bout of accidental magic.”

Harry wracked his brain for all the instances of accidental magic he'd once brushed off as his imagination. “I don't remember anything like that. What happened?”

“You had a nightmare and your magic lashed out,” Alice said morosely. “Every piece of glass in the entire house shattered; every window, picture frame, drinking glass – everything. No one was hurt, but it scared them enough to -”

“To give up the child that saw them as his parents; the child that didn't understand why he was being sent away,” Harry practically spat.

The absolute hatred Harry felt for the Dursleys was something he could scarcely describe. He loathed them with every fiber of his being now; but back then, when he had just been like any other child, he had loved them. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been his parents. The love of the past was nothing more than fuel for the flames of his anger.

“By the time we realized what had happened you were already entrenched in the system and we wouldn't have been able to adopt you without going through the Department of Education and Child Services at the Ministry of Magic,” Alice continued.

“And what difference does that make?” Harry asked pointedly.

Alice took a deep breath, “as soon as a reporter or mole in the Ministry caught wind that the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived was up for adoption it would've turned into a scandalous legal battle -”

“So you stayed away so you could avoid some bad press?!” Harry accused, his anger on the brink of boiling over.

“No! No no no, Harry, of course not!” Alice wailed, horror struck at the thought. “It would have dragged you into the spotlight! I wasn't your legal guardian anymore, so if I had moved to adopt you then others would have tried to stake their claim as well. You would've been pulled away from Miss Morrison, stuck with a Ministry Child Services agent, and accosted day after day by people looking to manipulate and adopt you. Harry, you're the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, you have access to a very large inheritance, and you're the only living family member to the famed Boy-Who-Lived. You would've been turned into a political tool!”

Alice ignored the stony look in Harry's eye as she reached over and grasped his hand with her own. “I wanted nothing more than to have you back with us! I wanted to hold you in my arms and swear to never let you go again! But you seemed happy! You were with a woman who was taking care of you, surrounded by other kids you got along with! I couldn't rip you away from that – not if it meant subjecting you to the cruelty of our society!”

Alice paused to wipe away the tears. Her choked sobs easing as she took a moment to breathe. “I am so sorry if I was wrong.”

For the first time since learning he had a family Harry had no response. Of all the things he expected to feel towards his godmother, he never thought he would actually understand why she had taken the actions that she did. Harry hadn't considered the political and social situation of his family for even a single second. An ignoramus in every sense of the word and still he'd leapt to conclusions. Harry was a fool.

Professor McGonagall had already explained to him that he was considered a ward under the care of Hogwarts the moment he'd accepted his invitation to the school. Harry only just realized how that status would protect him from all of the sharks looking to take advantage of who he was.

“Why did you never visit?” Harry asked after a few moments; his voice was quiet, but still like ice. “Why didn't you reach out to me – tell me I had a family – that I wasn't alone?”

“I don't have a good answer for you,” Alice said softly. “I -” she broke off with a small shake of her head.

Harry gave her a few moments to collect herself, he'd get his goddamn answers regardless how long it took.

“You were only nine,” Alice eventually croaked out, refusing to meet Harry's eyes, “after everything you'd already gone through I thought – I thought that telling you about us would only bring you more pain...”

“Explain.” Harry spat venomously.

Alice wrung her hands nervously, eyes askance as she answered him, “You were only _nine_ ,” she stressed, “a _child._ I didn't think you'd understand the idea that you had family you weren't allowed to live with. You wouldn't understand why you'd been sent away in the first place. You wouldn't understand not being able to talk about magic, and I would've had to explain magic for you to know why we couldn't just adopt you...”

“How does that justify keeping me separated from my own damn brother?!” Harry roared, his voice finally rising for the first time.

“It doesn't!” Alice cried, her tears leaving streaks down her face. “ _Nothing_ does! I should have been there for you! I should have done whatever I had to if it meant being in your life!” She broke off, suddenly retreating into herself. “But I didn't... because I thought I'd just be hurting you more. I thought that if I waited until you went to Hogwarts that – that you'd be angry, but you wouldn't be scared, confused, _hurt_. I'd hoped that if nothing else, you'd understand _why._ ”

The young teen glared at the woman that should have raised him, his mouth twisted into a bitter frown. “Then spell it out for me,” Harry ground out through gritted teeth.

Harry listened but said not a word as Alice explained everything from the start. The magical protections left on the twins by Lily Potter. The decision to create two safe-houses and their reasoning behind it. From the Dursleys to foster care, and even to the letter delivered by McGonagall. Alice explained everything. Harry _understood_ everything.

How was he supposed to harbor anger for his godmother when she so clearly tried to do right by him? He had never genuinely suspected that her intent was malicious, but even the remnants of his anger faded as he listened to Alice's heartfelt words.

“Stop.” Harry said quietly.

Alice lightly jumped, shocked that he finally deigned to speak after being silent for so long.

“Just stop.”

Harry didn't know what to say; hell, right now he barely knew what to think – but at that moment he couldn't bear to listen to Alice Longbottom's tears and apologies for another second.

The two of them sat there in silence. Harry tried to compile his thoughts but they kept slipping away; the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him blocking his ability to think. This wasn't a situation with a clear cut right or wrong answer; there was no instructions on what he was supposed to be thinking or how he should respond. Eventually, Harry decided to just give up, and so he let his mouth move of its own accord.

“I spent my entire life completely ignorant of my family, my heritage, of magic itself,” Harry began, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.

“The Dursleys gave me up, and I was lucky enough to find a good foster parent that provided food for my stomach and a roof over my head,” the words rolled off his tongue before his mind could process them. It was a wonder they were coherent.

Harry hadn't cried since the day the social worker picked him up from the Dursleys. Even at age six he'd sworn off crying. It was a useless action. It accomplished nothing. Family that abandoned their kids weren't worth shedding tears over. As Harry poured out his heart to Alice, a lone tear slid down his cheek.

“I thought I could blame you for that, but I can't – but I still can't thank you either because goddamn it my childhood was not _right!”_

Alice fervently nodded her head in agreement. “Harry I'm not trying to absolve myself of wrongdoing, I just thought you needed to know why. I don't expect you to forgive me for anything I've done to you.”

Forgiveness may not have been what Alice expected, but deep in his heart Harry knew she already had it from him. At that moment Harry's turbulent emotions would never allow him to admit it out loud, but he wasn't the type of person that could hate Alice for trying to do right by him. Sending him to the Dursleys was a mistake that cost him dearly; a mistake that had left scars that would probably never heal, not completely anyway. But Harry would reserve his wrath for those that were truly deserving of it – and that person was not his godmother.

“Follow me outside,” Harry abruptly rose from the table. “Tell Daniel to give us a few more minutes, then he can join us too.”

Alice didn't question Harry's sudden request as she quickly walked over to speak with Daniel before returning.

“Why are we going outside?” Alice asked, seemingly just happy that Harry hadn't stormed away.

“Because I really need a fucking smoke,” Harry said bluntly. He half expected some kind of motherly objection but none was forthcoming.

Once outside Harry stuck a cigarette in his mouth with the smooth ease of a long habit. He raised his wand and quietly muttered _flamma vus_ , a small fire springing to life on the tip. It was one of the first spells he'd sought out.

Neither of the two said a word as Harry quickly burned through the first cigarette of what he expected would be many. On a good day Harry liked to make each smoke last, to savor every inhalation and let the act itself calm him alongside the drugs. Right now though he just needed the edge to quickly fade away. A second cigarette followed the first as the minutes passed in silence.

“You drink, you smoke, you're already having sex,” Alice said eventually as the two leaned up against the outer wall of The Nook. “You got started young, huh?”

“Alongside everyone else in my social circle,” Harry said quietly as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. God that felt good. “Peer pressure is a hell of a drug.”

“I haven't known you long, Harry, but I don't believe that there was much pressure involved,” Alice said dryly.

Harry chuckled in spite of himself, she'd hit the nail on the head with that assumption. There had been others that influenced Harry, of course, but no one would ever accuse him of being a victim of peer pressure when it came to his habits.

“Do yourself a favor and go buy a few of those lung cleansing potions,” Alice gestured to his fag. “I don't know the name off the top of my head, but it's a popular potion with smokers.”

There was a potion that would allow him to smoke while also dodging the tar build-up on his lungs? Sold. “Thanks for the heads up,” Harry muttered. He made a mental note to ask the potioneer about potions for his teeth as well – it couldn't hurt even though he was very diligent about his dental hygiene.

The combination of a good cigarette, the warm sun, and a refreshing breeze had done wonders in calming Harry down. Not that he was surprised. He'd taken up smoking as a quick way to take the edge off a few years back. The habit suited him, and had quickly become a mainstay of his everyday life. He normally kept to one or two at a time, but the edge was a bit larger than normal right now.

“And please learn the contraceptive charm,” Alice continued after a few seconds of silence. “Witches are taught it early at Hogwarts, and my mum taught me before I even went to Hogwarts; but it doesn't hurt for you to know how to cast it as well.”

Harry nodded his thanks, inwardly elated that such a charm existed and was apparently commonplace. Magic really was quite the gem.

“So in the magical world no one cares if you're having sex as long as you're being safe?” Harry asked bluntly. His godmother may have seemed like an odd source to ask about sex, but to him she was as good as any other.

Alice lightly shrugged, not put off by the topic, she'd brought it up after all. “We're a secular society by and large. The purity of virginity does have magical implications, but even with that most people just don't care anymore. Even the old pure-blood families have largely moved on; well, some families like the Longbottoms did awhile ago, but the more traditional families are catching up.”

“Are the Longbottoms not traditional?” Harry asked with a soft exhale, he was intrigued by the easy flow of conversation and eager to see it continue.

Alice shook her head with small smile. “Not really, we respect some of the old traditions but follow very few of them. We're an old family – very old actually, but we keep with the times. Have ever since Frank's great-great-grandfather said enough was enough.”

“You know your history,” Harry remarked.

“It's one of my favorite subjects,” Alice's demeanor perked up, happily speaking of what was apparently one of her passions.

Harry realized then and there he didn't want to be the cause of her smile going away, not again.

“So you could tell me all about the Longbottom family even though you married into it?”

“Of course! Want to hear about how the Longbottoms have been in England since before it was formally called England?” Alice asked, effortlessly proving her confidence when it came to knowledge of her family's history.

“Another time,” Harry said, chuckling at his godmother's enthusiasm. Harry mentally paused as he noticed how rapidly he'd come to associate Alice with that term.

“You sure? I could tell you about the role we played in the defense during Norman's conquest! Oh, or how we were one of the founding families that formed the Wizard's Council!” Alice's excitement was almost infectious, but only almost.

Harry resisted the urge to give in and let Alice launch into her spiel on the history of the Longbottoms. “I'm sure for now, Alice. Tell me about my dad instead, we got distracted earlier.”

“Oh, James,” Alice said sadly. “Everything I said earlier was true, but he was also a really good guy. He pushed the boundaries a lot, but there wasn't a single person in Gryffindor that thought he wouldn't have your back if you were in a pinch.”

“Was this before or after sixth year?” Harry asked, smoke trailing after his question. “You mentioned sixth year earlier.”

Alice nodded her head. “A bit of both, honestly. James and his best friends were only ever really mean to this group of Slytherin students in our year that gave as good as they got. When it came to those two groups, no one was just a victim and everyone was to blame. I don't want to sound like I'm defending James when he acted like that though, he and his best friends were still bullies.”

Harry had known quite a few people like that at his old school. Kids and teenagers could be right bastards sometimes, but that didn't mean every aspect of their personality was bad. James Potter could have been a bully towards some classmates and a good friend to others – neither was mutually exclusive.

“But that changed?” Harry probed, still curious about what went down in their sixth year.

“James changed,” Alice said simply. “He never mentioned this profound moment or experience that caused him to grow up, he just did so of his own accord. Sixth year was the start of a new James. He was still James of course, happy to crack a joke or casually flirt with every girl he saw, but the more boorish aspects of his personality were gone.”

Harry deigned not to respond as Alice continued to share stories and memories of James Potter. Harry was more than happy to just listen as he continued to satisfy his need for exotic smoke. The second he stamped out his cigarette under his boot another one was already in hand.

Harry would have stayed in that spot for hours as he listened to stories about his parents' schooldays. The firm wood against his back, the cool breeze in the air, the pleasant burn at the back of his throat. Harry was the type of guy that craved excitement in most areas of life, but he also cherished the simple moments. The moments where he had to do nothing but listen to his godmother happily speak of memories from twenty years prior.

Daniel was kind, and gave Harry and Alice far more minutes alone than the simple few he had requested. Almost half an hour had passed before the younger twin finally walked outside to join them. Harry was glad that he'd had time to cool off, he wanted to spend time with his little brother when he wasn't in the mood to break things.

Daniel approached and cast a wry look towards the cigarette held betwixt two of Harry's fingers. “I thought I smelled smoke on you earlier but I wasn't sure. Now, I'm sure.”

“Want one?” Harry offered, extending the cigarette. Harry was on his last one anyway, the edge was long gone by now.

“No, he does not,” Alice quickly said, giving Harry a mildly disapproving look, but he could see the hint of a smile underneath. “I know you're going to do your damnedest to corrupt Daniel – but can't you at least wait until you're both at Hogwarts, and not standing literally right next to me?”

“I suppose I could since you've already accepted the inevitability of his corruption,” Harry said around mouthfuls of smoke. “I take my solemn duties as the elder brother very seriously.”

“You know you're only older than me by about two minutes, right?” Daniel cut in.

Alice and Harry both admirably ignored him.

“No drugs,” Alice said sternly.

“Only fun ones,” Harry countered.

“No addictive drugs!”

“But smokes are addictive.”

“I'm aware.”

Harry and Alice stared one another down, their eye contact unbroken until Harry blew a small wisp of smoke towards her face. It was rude of him, but Alice's small laugh at the childish action brought a smile to his own face nonetheless.

“How about I don't offer him any smokes, but I'm not responsible if he asks for one?” Harry said, seeking some manner of compromise that he had no intention of honoring.

“He's only sixteen, Harry. Can't you just stick to alcohol and snogging girls? At least for first year?” Alice pleaded.

“Hey! He's only sixteen too!” Daniel tried to jump into the conversation once more.

Once more he was unsuccessful.

“Snogging girls is a lot of fun, I agree, but I can't promise to limit his opportunities should they arise.”

As the older twin, Harry was genuine in his determination to introduce his little brother to a life of debauchery and hedonism. There was a guidebook to life, and older brothers corrupting their younger brothers was to this guidebook what the Fourth Commandment was to the Bible. Such was the case in Harry's mind anyway.

“Besides, like you said already, he's sixteen. Shouldn't snogging girls and sneaking booze be something he's familiar with by now? It's my job to up the ante,” Harry declared assuredly.

Alice stuck her hands on her hips. “Unique circumstances and an obnoxious title have caused him to be a bit more sheltered than normal,” she stated firmly.

“I'm not that sheltered!” Daniel interrupted for a third time. He stood there with his arms in the air, indignant that he didn't have a say in his own corruption.

“Hush, Daniel, the grown ups are talking,” Harry dismissed him with a shooing motion.

Daniel gave him the good ole fashioned two-fingered salute in return.

Harry considered how much less exposure to the world Daniel might have had given his notoriety and the terrorists that were likely still at large – the realization that such circumstances held absolutely no bearing on his future corruption was quick to follow.

“If anything his sheltered upbringing means I have a lot to make up for,” Harry objected, refusing to back down from his sacred duty.

“Fine, do your worst,” Alice said, mock glaring at Harry. “Neville will keep Daniel out of trouble, he's always been the more level-headed of the two.”

“Like hell he has!” Daniel exclaimed.

Harry grinned at his godmother with what he was determined to trademark as his very own cocksure smile. “I'll corrupt little Neville too.”

“Neville is older than you by a day! And taller to boot! So good luck with that!” Alice countered with a smug grin of her own.

“We both know older brother status is spiritual as much as it is physical,” Harry said, completely unconcerned with Neville's greater age and height when compared with his own. “Sheltered child one and two shall both fall under my wicked tutelage!”

Alice laughed wholeheartedly, her entire body shaking with mirth as she used the wall to keep herself standing.

Harry was slightly perplexed by Alice's reaction. He was amused by their back and forth as well, but he honestly didn't think it was _that_ funny. “Not very hard to make you laugh, is it?” Harry asked with a slight chuckle.

“I'm sorry, it's just -” Alice broke off her own sentence and slowly rose to meet Harry's eyes. She just looked at him, lightly smiling before suddenly pulling Harry into a tight hug.

Completely blindsided by the unforeseen turn of events, Harry simply stood there, arms awkwardly forced to his sides as he was held by the woman he'd been on the verge of screaming at earlier. Harry turned his eyes towards Daniel seeking clarification, but he was just as visibly confused by his mother's actions as Harry was. With no other recourse available to him, Harry accepted the affectionate gesture despite how random he felt it was.

“Thank you, Harry,” Alice eventually whispered to him.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the woman's words. He wasn't entirely sure what she was thanking him for, but he was honestly okay with that. The number of heartfelt declarations and cathartic rants he was capable of handling for one day had been met while they were still inside the Nook. The emotions and decisions of the past needed to be aired out, but Harry was content to save any and all other impassioned conversations for another day. Or better yet, year.

Alice released Harry from her sudden embrace and took a step back. “I've got a few errands to run,” she said, beaming at the two brothers. “Daniel, just floo home when you're done, and Harry – please don't be a stranger. The time for me to try and be your mother has passed, I know, but I want to be apart of your life going forward. So, I'll write, okay?”

Still bemused by Alice's actions but content to play along, Harry nodded in acquiescence to her request. He'd like to see anyone turn down Alice's offer to write when she was that earnest. Saying no would be like kicking a puppy. “Letters it is,” he agreed.

Alice smiled brightly and with a small pop she apparated away. Harry and Daniel fell into a rather comfortable silence upon being left alone. The older twin would have never guessed that he'd find the company of his brother to be such an easy thing to settle in to. Despite the years of separation, his presence almost felt natural.

“You want to get some food?” Daniel asked, pulling Harry from his reverie.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“There's this place called the Maple Tree around the bend. Best waffles in the world, I swear.” Daniel started leading the way to the renowned restaurant.

Harry couldn't resist the easy opportunity to tease. “And how does the Boy-Who-Was-Sheltered know about such an establishment?”

Daniel groaned loudly. “You know she was kidding, right?”

“I can't exactly be sure of that, now can I?” Harry said innocently.

“My life hasn't been quite as adventurous as yours, but it's not like Nev and I have never gotten up to anything fun. We do leave the house for various reasons!” Daniel defended, intent on proving he wasn't the world's most sheltered child.

“Dinner with mummy doesn't count,” Harry mocked.

“Ouch,” Daniel deadpanned. “But seriously, for the past few years we've regularly gone out and done things.”

“You didn't when you were younger?”

“Merlin, no. It was understandable given the number of random attacks that still occurred even after You-Know-Who was killed though,” Daniel said as he led Harry through a shortcut towards their chosen destination.

“You-Know-Who?” Harry questioned, the lilt in his voice conveying his confusion.

“That's what everyone calls him.”

“Calls who? The madman that killed our parents?” Harry asked, still confused.

“Yeah, the guy was a madman, but he was also a terrifying son of a bitch that almost brought our society to its knees,” Daniel explained as the two of them navigated through the crowded streets filled to the brim with families shopping for Hogwarts.

“So why the moniker 'You-Know-Who'?”

“I asked Dad that too way back when, and he said it was thanks to a curse placed on You-Know-Who's actual name. Anyone that spoke it risked bringing his attention down on their heads. Those that spoke it with impunity almost always died.”

“That sounds like confirmation bias to me,” Harry said skeptically.

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe, but does it really matter? People who said his name tended to die, so people stopped saying his name. Fifteen years later and the habit just stuck.”

Harry thought there was a huge difference based on the potential magic involved, but conceded that the public perception was the same regardless. “Fair point.”

Harry wondered if his sensor abilities would allow him to detect such magic if it existed; once he improved his capabilities in utilizing them anyway. Right now he could barely detect obvious magic, let alone subtle spells that had their very existence questioned by an entire society.

“You talk about what happened fairly easily,” Harry commented.

Daniel cast a forlorn glance towards his twin. “I've always known about it, I've had time to process everything. You haven't had that luxury.”

Harry once again acknowledged that his little brother had a point, but he and Daniel would go down the road that was their tragic past another time. “So have you read any of the journals in our vault?” The blunt subject change was both obvious and intentional.

“A few of them. None of our parents' journals specifically though. I've heard so many stories about them that their journals weren't really a priority for me. I'll read them at some point, but for now,” Daniel trailed off with a slight shrug.

“It seems like a Potter tradition that Mum happened to fit in with by pure happenstance,” Harry remarked as they approached their restaurant of choice. “Ah, we're here.”

The Maple Tree was a small little place built entirely out of wood, stained a beautiful mix of red and browns. Harry didn't even make it inside before his eye was caught by the outside seating area; dotted with elegantly carved wooden tables and chairs, with a beautiful wooden canopy shielding the area from the rays of the sun. In an unspoken agreement the two twins claimed one of the empty tables.

“Trust me, this place is fantastic,” Daniel said, his grin wide as he sat down.

His assurance was perfectly timed with a sudden waft from inside the establishment that tickled Harry's senses. The scent of waffles had never before been so enticing.

“You are right though, journaling has been a thing in our family since the beginning as far as I can tell,” Daniel continued, picking up their conversation once more.

“Yeah that's what I figured. Hell, I even bought a journal to try my hand at it, but damn is it awkward,” Harry replied, inwardly cringing at his mediocre attempts.

“Want my advice?” Daniel asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. “Grab a dictation quill. I thought writing my thoughts was awkward too, but with a dictation quill it's super easy since all you have to do is speak your mind and let the quill handle the actual writing.”

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed, recalling just how conversational his mother's journals had seemed. “Did Mum use one of those too?”

“Well like I said, I haven't read Mum's, but Mum said she always had them at Hogwarts, so it wouldn't surprise me.”

Harry had to take a moment to parse through Daniel's confusing choice of words, but he eventually nodded, his suspicions all but confirmed.

“You call both Alice and Lily 'mum',” Harry commented. “Does that not get confusing?

Daniel shrugged lightly, “not really, it's easy in my head.”

“That's fair.”

Daniel suddenly looked apprehensive. “That doesn't bother you, does it? That I, you know, call Alice mum?”

Harry sighed as he leaned forward and forcefully met his little brother's averted eyes. “Alice and Frank raised you, Daniel. They're you're mum and dad, simple as that. No one, and I mean no one – not James, Lily, or myself – would ever begrudge you calling them that.”

Harry meant every word. Anyone that would get upset at Daniel for calling his adopted parents mum and dad deserved a special place in hell. Harry doubted that he'd personally ever view Frank and Alice in such a light; but they'd raised his little brother well. He'd never deny that fact.

“Thanks, Harry,” Daniel said softly, somewhat bashful at Harry's encouraging words.

The younger twin was spared from any teasing thanks to their waitress arriving at their table. She was cute, probably a few years older than the twins, her dark hair pulled back into a simple pony-tail.

“Alright guys, what will it be today?” She asked, a slight Irish accent present in her speech.

“Hey Darcy,” Daniel said without having to read the name-tag on her chest, “I'll take the Red Berry Waffles, a side of eggs, and some tea, yeah?”

Darcy nodded as a quill wrote in her notepad by itself. “I should have guessed that. Someday you should consider branching out and order something new,” she said, smiling down at him.

“I know what I like,” Daniel replied, returning the smile.

Darcy then turned towards Harry. “And what about you...” her voice trailed off as she focused her gaze on Harry before looking back at Daniel, then back at Harry, and so on for almost five seconds. “Daniel, when did you have the time to create a simulacrum?” She asked, completely befuddled at how there were suddenly two of the boy.

_Well that's an easy set-up,_ Harry thought. There was far too much fun to be had now.

“I'm Daniel Alter,” Harry chimed in, interrupting Daniel before he could get a word in edgewise. “I'm the twisted and villainous version of Daniel. Or as I like to think of myself, a more honest version.”

Darcy blinked, bemused at the fantastical identity Daniel's duplicate was sharing. “What?” She asked eloquently, levity clear in her countenance.

On the other hand, Daniel Prime as Harry was thinking of him, looked both horrified and slightly amused at the thought of what Harry might say while under the guise of Daniel. Even though no one would believe the obvious tall-tale, it was clear that Daniel was still genuinely concerned over the damage Harry would cause using his name.

“Think of me as Daniel if he had no filter, no inhibitions, and no moral fiber,” Harry said, grinning at the poor waitress he'd turned into an unwilling participant in his joke.

Darcy had caught up to the fact that Harry was clearly messing with her, but she was still utterly clueless as to who the Daniel lookalike was. “Daniel, who is this guy?”

“That's my twi-”

Harry once again interjected before Daniel could finish his thought. It was quickly becoming a habit of his.

“Don't mind him, Darcy, dear. Daniel Prime over there is currently paralyzed in fear over what will happen when I reveal how exceptionally cute the two of us think you are.” Harry briefly paused and grinned wickedly at the shocked Daniel. “See? Nothing to worry about. Now that you've complimented her and she doesn't seem offended or put off, you can try your hand at flirting.”

Harry knew that somehow, at some point in time, Daniel was going to exact his revenge for this. Not that Harry cared though; the face Daniel was making was easily the most entertaining thing he had seen in months. Calling his little brother a virgin in front of the woman that raised him was pure gold, a memory that Harry would cherish for years to come. This though... this was better.

Darcy, who had flushed lightly at the flirtatious comment, regained her wits and chose to take pity on the poor lad. “Don't worry about your evil alter self, Daniel,” she said, almost stumbling over what to call Harry but pushing through admirably, “he's just jealous of you.” She hugged Daniel from behind, laughing at her own swift turnaround.

Harry chuckled as Daniel grinned at him victoriously. Darcy really was quite attractive so Harry had to give it to his little brother, he'd won this round quite handedly. Harry would still poke fun at him for how much he was blushing though.

“Darcy, meet my twin brother, Harry. He's a dick,” Daniel said dryly, his ability to speak seemingly having returned with the hug.

Harry grinned at Darcy but didn't deny the accusation. “Charmed,” he said confidently.

Darcy laughed as she released Daniel. “You've been holding out on me, Daniel. I didn't know you had a twin brother,” she remarked, giving Harry a brief look over. “Eh, you're definitely the nicer twin though, so maybe you weren't holding out.”

Harry feigned a sudden pain in his heart by dramatically clutching his chest, but he still neglected to contradict the young woman.

“Like I said, he's a dick.”

Ahh, there was his little brother chiming in with the kind words. Harry was enjoying being the elder sibling so much, even with only meeting Daniel earlier that day. If this continued, Harry was quite certain that the future was going to be chock full of exciting prospects.

“What will it be for you, Harry,” Darcy asked, a small smile in place as she resumed her task of actually taking their orders.

“Apple Strudel Waffle, also with a side of eggs and a cuppa, thanks.” Harry returned with a smile of his own. Messing with the cute waitress at the expense of his brother had been fun, but he knew not to push too far and annoy people he wasn't personally familiar with.

“I'll be back in a few,” Darcy stated, already turning away from the two brothers.

Harry waggled his fingers goodbye to the pretty witch while Daniel kicked his shin under the table.

“Ouch! Rude!”

“You have no right to call anyone else rude,” Daniel scoffed.

“You're the one already resulting to violence. C'mon, can't you just insult me or something?” Harry pleaded as he rubbed his now bruised appendage.

“Don't worry, I'll do that too.”

Harry leaned in conspiratorially, “I was right though, wasn't I? You think she's cute.” It really wasn't much of a question, it would take a special brand of idiot to think Darcy wasn't an exceedingly pretty witch. That's not to say that Harry wasn't going to still needle Daniel over his obvious attraction to her though. Now that he thought about it, Harry would needle Daniel over anything and everything if it meant an amusing reaction.

“Yeah, no shit,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes. “I think lots of girls are cute, that doesn't mean I want you telling each and every one of them.”

“That's my job though?”

Daniel's forehead met the table with an audible thud. “You suck. We just met, and you already suck.”

“Just a preview of the rest of your life, brother mine,” Harry boasted with a grin.

“You didn't need to toss me into the deep end so quickly.”

“Hey, the person who taught me how to swim started by shoving me into the Thames – I'm just channeling the lessons she taught me.”

“That explains way too much about you,” Daniel muttered, his eyes wide as he suddenly understood the chaotic force that was his twin far more than he did before.

“I'm taking that as a compliment.” Harry had no idea what his comments explained, but in lieu of an explanation he was going to roll with whatever made him feel better.

Daniel snorted at that. “So what House do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “No clue, I know there are Houses but beyond that they're a mystery to me. I figured I'd just roll with whatever happened.”

“You don't even know what they are?” Daniel asked, flabbergasted at his brother's laissez-faire attitude.

“Nope, and beyond being related to the four founders I'm good not to know,” Harry explained. “I want Hogwarts to be a surprise, an experience unlike all others; so until we get there I don't want to know anything.”

Daniel nodded at the strange but still sound logic. “I suppose I can understand that. How about classes? You nervous about those?”

Harry guffawed at his twin's remark. “I've been doing a lot of reading, so I'm honestly not worried at all.”

“You're not worried at all despite only knowing about magic for a month?” Daniel raised an eye-brow in surprise.

“Nope,” Harry popped the 'p' for extra emphasis. “What about you? Are you going to be the second coming of Merlin with all your special magical training?”

Daniel laughed good-naturedly at one of the more absurd rumors about the Boy-Who-Lived that people seemed to believe for some reason. “Oh definitely. Using the vast knowledge and resources gained from being the secret descendant of all four founders, I'll use the power I stole from Voldemort combined with my magical animagus form to reshape our society into a utopia!”

“All before the age of seventeen,” Harry helpfully added, uncertain about what an animagus was, but still willing to continue with the bit.

“Those stupid rumors are the absolute worst,” Daniel whined dramatically. “If you ever figure out who started them let me know so I can hit them over the head. Hard.”

“You do know there's an entire series of children's books about you, right?”

Daniel smirked. “Yeah, but I make money off of those.”

Harry had to hand it to him for the pragmatic outlook. Fame wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but anyone that looked down on the oft included fortune was an idiot. Harry was quite pleased that his brother didn't strike him as an idiot.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Harry lowered his voice and glanced around before gesturing to his brother's forehead, “aren't you supposed to have a big prominent scar somewhere up there?”

Daniel chuckled at his brother's bemusement. “Normally yeah, but if I was walking around with that thing clear as day I'd be mobbed. One time was enough for that.”

“Glamor charm?” Harry had read about the useful alteration spells in one of his books.

“Mhm, along with a bit of make-up,” Daniel confirmed. “Charm on its own doesn't work too well for some reason, but when combined with make-up you can't tell its there at all.”

Harry stirred a single sugar into his recently delivered tea and took a sip with a contented sigh. “Damn, that's good.”

Daniel nodded along in agreement. “Right? Love this place.”

“I can see why. So do you cover up that thing every time you go out?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Daniel paused, adding a splash of milk to his own drink. “Most people just want to thank me, you know, which is fine; I don't deserve their thanks but I can put up with it. Even after all these years people are just grateful that You-Know-Who is gone. Some people are obnoxious when they see me, but they're clearly the minority. So I really don't mind...”

“Buuuut,” Harry urged his brother to continue.

“But it sucks being famous because your parents died,” Daniel spoke softly. “You-Know-Who mysteriously being vanquished was a good thing for most the world, but we were orphaned. Most people seem to forget that.”

Harry grimaced at the dark turn he'd accidentally forced their conversation down. “Yeah, you're not wrong.”

“I don't mean to throw a pity party for us,” Daniel apologized quickly.

Harry waved off his concerns. “It's fine man, I'm sure we'll both throw plenty of those in the future.”

The two brothers chuckled, the dark humor a balm on the mood that threatened to overtake them.

“Subject change?”

“Subject change.”

Harry then remembered a point of contention from earlier. “Wait a minute!”

“What's up?” Daniel glanced up from blowing on his tea.

“You owe me money!” Harry declared.

Daniel almost spilled his drink as he lurched back in surprise. “Huh?”

“Yeah, you owe me money!” Harry echoed his statement once more.

“What makes you say that?” Daniel wiped up the liquid that had dripped down the mug, bemused at his brother's sudden claim.

“If you're capitalizing on the fame gained from our family history, I think I'm entitled to at least a third of those earnings.” Harry settled down as he took another sip from his exceptionally delectable drink. “It's only fair after all.”

“Umm, let me think about it,” Daniel mocked, lightly stroking an imaginary beard. “No.”

Harry shook his head sadly. “Mark my words, Daniel: I shall remember this display of brotherly love when you're old and alone with only your cats for company.”

“Kneazles,” Daniel corrected.

“Magic cats then.”

“That's an insult to Kneazles.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It's accurate though.”

“Fine then, you're just a magic ape,” Daniel huffed, taking a sip of his tea.

Harry hummed and then nodded contentedly. “I accept this designation with pride.”

“You're so weird.”

“I'm okay with that.”

**OoooOoooO**

_“Welcome back honey, how'd it go? And where's Daniel?”_

_“Daniel is still talking with Harry, he'll floo back when he's done.”_

_“So I take it things went well?”_

_“Better than I expected, worse than I hoped.”_

_“I'm guessing he yelled a lot?”_

_“I wish, yelling I can deal with. He's the angry-but-calm type.”_

_“I can tell you've been crying.”_

_“We both said what needed to be said, but he doesn't seem to hate me – so that's something at least.”_

_“I hope he comes around even more.”_

_“Me too.”_

_“Why do you smell like smoke?”_

_“Oh, didn't realize I did. Harry smokes and I guess the smell just got on me.”_

_“He smokes?”_

_“Mhmm.”_

_“And he's going to be around Daniel and Neville a lot?”_

_“Harry's a good kid, Frank, he's just a bit rough around the edges. Cut him some slack.”_

_“How rough around the edges are we talking?”_

_“Imagine a more mature James, but with a bit extra delinquency tossed in?”_

_“Are you asking me? You're the one that met him, hon'.”_

_“I don't know. I guess you could say that he's a kid that turned towards whatever habits made him feel good at that moment. What for most teens is just a way to rebel, for Harry it's just the way he's lived his life for the past few years.”_

_“Hm.”_

_“What? What's that look for?”_

_“Your description reminds me of Black.”_

_“Stop it, Frank.”_

_“It was just an observation. I didn't mean to imply anything.”_

_“Sirius lied to us all for years! Harry is just a kid that had to grow up looking after himself!”_

_“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Black was nothing like who he pretended to be, so that comparison isn't fair.”_

_“Harry is nothing like that traitorous son of a bitch!”_

_“Alice, you're right – I'm sorry.”_

_“No... I'm sorry, for snapping at you.”_

_“Black is a sensitive subject, I should have never brought him up.”_

_“I can't run from the past forever, Frank.”_

_“You're not running, Alice. You just met with Harry knowing he'd be upset with you; you knew that it would hurt, but you did it anyway. That's not running, that's standing strong and facing your past. It's practically the exact opposite of running.”_

_“Nice pep talk.”_

_“Encouraging speeches have always been my thing.”_

_“Oh I know, Mister Captain of the Gryffindor Spirit Squad.”_

_“Ugh, you're never going to let me live down that name, are you?”_

_“Nope.”_

_“I was a coach for the team!”_

_“James always described you as their best cheerleader.”_

_“Motivational coach!”_

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“Why did everyone make fun of me and not Charlie Marsh? He basically did the same thing.”_

_“One, Charlie was a Puff, there's a difference. Two, his girlfriend was on the team. There's a lot of things that are excusable in the name of love. His cheering probably got him laid.”_

_“...”_

_“Ha! You have no defense for that, do you?”_

_“Whatever, keep laughing. Just don't you forget that for both years I helped coach, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.”_

_“The efforts of Gryffindor's number one cheerleader shall not be forgotten, honey, I promise.”_

**OoooOoooO**

Darkness greeted the eyes of Quirinus Quirrell as he came to consciousness. Few people understood what true darkness was; their belief that the world darkened once the sun set was folly. Even he, who had journeyed to the bottom of the Veryovkina Cave and turned off the lights, had not truly grasped the domain of Erebus until his Master taught him to Dream.

The true absence of all light was a familiar sight to Quirrell by now. Many months had been spent learning the ways of this world that was not truly a world at all, and while he held no illusions as to his mastery of Dreaming, he was more than capable of escaping the darkness. With but a thought a grand marble fireplace sprung into existence; the warm flames flickering within offering their soft glow to help fight off the never-ending void of light.

In an instant two high-backed leather armchairs took form adjacent to the fire, resting atop an intricately carved rug of Persian make. Next to each chair a small table appeared: on one sat a vintage bottle of 1970 Romanée-Conti and a single pristine glass; on the other a bottle of Macallan 1947 Single Malt Scotch with a lone crystal tumbler.

Quirrell would never be able to properly thank his Master for introducing him to the world of fine taste and luxury. Were it not for his Master, Quirrell would have continued to labor away in his ignorance, operating under the misguided assumption that muggles had little of true value to offer Wizards despite the strides they'd made without magic.

_'Muggles are inferior, Quirinus, but do not misunderstand my intentions for them. Muggles have performed admirably in the world given the absence of magic. They have used their own methods to reach the stars, to build and destroy cities, to create fine cuisine and excellent wine. I would not have such talents wasted when they could be better utilized in servitude.'_

Quirrell laughed lightly at the thought of his Master's plans for the world as he conjured a gramophone playing Mozart's Requiem in D minor. Not even the separation of their societies thanks to the Statute of Secrecy stopped the magical world from listening to the compositions of the legendary composer.

Quirrell idly directed the ambient darkness to shift into a night sky reminiscent of the one he'd viewed whilst visiting the Namib Desert so many years ago. There was far much work to do now or else he might have begun planning another trip to the gorgeous locale. Working as his Master's only active agent was quite the difficult and time consuming task. There was much to do and he remained the only catalyst by which anything would get accomplished. Despite his request for more assistance his Master was adamant that no one else be brought into the fold as of yet. Quirrell did not understand his Master's reticence on the matter but he was loathe to question him directly after already being told no. Experience had taught him that this was not the wisest course. Besides, his Master knew what was best far better than he.

Pulled from his contemplation by the sound of a cork popping from a bottle; Quirrell gasped as he turned to see his Master standing there in all of his transcendent glory. Casually pouring a glass of wine, his Master stole his very breath away. Everything about the man, if he could even be called that anymore, was perfect. From his fitted black suit to his neatly styled black hair, both contrasting beautifully with his pale skin and piercing red eyes. Every movement was graceful to a truly inhuman degree. Even the way he stood in place was striking. His Master was the true pinnacle of human evolution – a gift to all who were able to gaze upon him.

Quirrell felt his heartbeat rapidly quicken as his Master directed him to take a seat with a small gesture. These weekly meetings where the two of them were able to meet alone and face-to-face were the most cherished part of Quirrell's life. Quirrell did as his Master directed him, delaying only long enough to pour himself a glass of Scotch. The arm-chair was of a sublime level of comfort, just as he had intended. Nothing but the best for his Master.

“Excellent choice of vintage, Quirinus. And this setting is marvelous. Based on the constellations I would say we are somewhere in Southern Africa, am I correct?” A voice of pure velvet, every word his Master spoke was encapsulating.

Quirrell shuddered briefly at his Master's address. Would that he could spend all day basking in the sound of his Master speaking his name, but he knew better than to keep his Master waiting. Efficiency above all else, even worship. “Yes, Master, you are correct.”

“An interesting region, I must say. I only visited briefly as most of my endeavors in Africa were focused around Egypt...”

Quirrell had to bite his tongue to avoid asking why his Master was in Egypt. Speaking out of turn was... unpleasant, to say the least. There were rules in place for a reason, and if he broke those rules than his Master would punish him, it was as simple as that. While Quirrell would give anything to feel his Master's tender touch, discipline at his hand was something not even Quirrell found pleasurable. Punishments were not meant to be enjoyed.

“As for the music you have playing,” his Master's words tapered off as he cocked his head slightly to the side, listening to the Kyrie intently. “A hauntingly beautiful piece. What is the name?”

“The Requiem, Master,” Quirrell answered immediately. Though he was somewhat perturbed as he had thought his Master familiar with the work.

“I see, I see.”

Quirrell lightly shook his head. He must have been mistaken. If his Master had known of the piece then he would've recalled it. Since he could not recall the name he must not have known of it. There was no other explanation.

The music quieted down immensely as his Master claimed his own seat, elegantly crossing his legs and seemingly content with the level of comfort provided by the chair Quirrell had brought into existence. Quirrell let out the breath he did not realize he'd been holding. The thought that his Master might be uncomfortable thanks to his failure was unbearable. His Master deserved only the best.

“Tell me Quirinus, do you have everything prepared for the upcoming school year?” His Master punctuated his words with a small sip. It took every ounce of willpower Quirrell possessed to focus on his Master's words rather than the tantalizing visage on display. Quirrell quickly cast aside the sensual desires that had taken hold in his mind. Now was not the time to indulge in fantasies.

“Yes, Master. In terms of my role as an educator I have everything set in place. In regards to the theft of your Stone, I have acquired every tool on the list that you provided save for one that will be delivered come October.”

His Master's eyes narrowed and in an instant Quirrell was thrashing in pain as he felt his tongue rapidly rotting away. He fell to the floor, what was once a soft carpet was now a hard soil with rocks that pierced his skin like jagged glass. The warm glow of a fireplace had been replaced by the oppressive heat of a thousand suns, evaporating every ounce of moisture in the air and blistering his skin. The light itself burned his eyes – he tried to close them but his efforts were for naught. An acrid smoke filled his nose and mouth, turning the very act of breathing into another source of misery. Every one of his senses cried out in agony.

Quirrell begged for it all to stop.

The necrosis continued to spread, turning his gums and lips into a horrid mix of mottled blacks and browns as they quickly decayed.

_'I TOLD YOU TO HAVE EVERYTHING PREPARED BY SEPTEMBER 1ST, QUIRINUS!'_

Quirrell _screamed_.

The heat melted his flesh, his skin sloughing off and searing him to the ground.

Quirrell wanted to _die..._

Why hadn't he _died?_

_'LET THIS SERVE AS REMINDER TO YOU ON WHY I AM TO BE OBEYED!'_

The voice in his head that was not his own shouted, and even through the agony Quirrell understood. This was his fault. The pain. The suffering. It was all his fault. If Quirrell had just done as his Master commanded than he wouldn't be in this situation. He caused this. He _deserved_ this. His Master did not let his mind break, for that would've been avoiding the punishment he so justly deserved. The pain did not stop.

Time lost all meaning as Quirrell's body was broken down, restored, and then broken down again. Whether it was minutes, days, months, or even years Quirrell was not sure. Pain became his life. Suffering his existence.

“Welcome back, Quirinus.”

Just as quickly as the pain had begun so too was it gone. Quirrell was back in his arm-chair, a tumbler filled with scotch held aloft in one hand, the pleasant sound of Mozart's Requiem playing around him. Quirrell was frozen in place as phantom pains cascaded throughout his body. His Master always kept him paralyzed after punishments.

His Master took another sip of wine. “The delay for that final tool is regrettable, but we can still keep to our schedule without issue.”

Even if he had been able to form coherent speech at that moment, Quirrell knew better than to try. As much as he wished to apologize to his Master for the delays, to do so would involve interrupting the Master and thus delaying him further. No. No. Quirrell would remain silent and listen. Apologies could be saved for another time.

“We will not be able to communicate like this once you are within the wards of Hogwarts, so I will be trusting you to stick to the schedule I set for you.”

Quirrell nodded mutely, his neck the only part of his body that he could control.

“It is also likely that even should you leave the grounds of Hogwarts I will not attempt to commune with you. I will be saving my strength for when the time is right.”

Again, Quirrell could only nod.

“Do not fail me, Quirinus.”

The snap of his Master's fingers was all the warning he had before Quirrell awoke in his bed, screaming. The pain was gone, but the memories still remained. Eventually his mind caught up with his body and the screaming ceased. Quirrell slowly rose into a sitting position as he cast a sideways glance out of his bedroom window. The rising sun's rays colored the countryside as the morning dew glistened on the grass; the sounds of singing birds and other morning life greeted his ears. Quirinus Quirrell cared for none of that though and began to weep, for today was another day that he was still alive.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Bah. It's all about perception, lass. Everyone shrieks and cries that a curse is dark because it causes pain, but pain isn't dark. The Cruciatus curse isn't a pleasant curse. It's not a nice and happy spell you show to your grandkids when you're bouncing them on your knee. You won't find many good people casting it because most good people don't want to cause others pain... most people don't have it in them to target the very soul. I've cast that spell before, and I'll cast that spell again if you show me a cunt worth casting it on. I'm no saint, and I'm certainly not Dumbledore; I'll use whatever spell is at my disposal if it means putting a murderer in Azkaban where they belong! That doesn't make me worse than those evil bastards, not by a long shot. And I'll break Albus' nose again if he insinuates as much." -Alastor Moody to Amelia Bones over an early morning coffee after a long night. October, 1964._

**Chapter 7:**

"Ah, there you are lad," Tom the barkeep called out to Harry as he trudged down the steps with his trunk banging every single one.

Harry smiled at the old man and raised his hand. "Hey Tom, I've got my key right here, and the room is in mostly good condition, minus the scorch marks on the ceiling that we'd already talked about."

Harry liked to think he'd been an excellent patron during his two month stay. Well, there was the time or four when he'd set the bed-sheets on fire while practicing his spells. Not to mention the potions mess that almost melted through the floor when he had let it simmer for too long. There was also the unintentional party he helped throw in the dining room during the Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies match, but that wasn't entirely his fault. Yes, he'd bought a number of rounds for everyone that cheered when the Harpies scored. And yes, he had been one of the few people that had started singing the Harpies' theme song when Puddlemere had to call a time-out after one of their Chasers was knocked from his broom and broke fourteen of his bones – but most of the room was singing by the end anyway.

Besides, he had not been responsible for the raucous singing of Welsh drinking songs long after the game was over. Harry didn't have any Welsh pride, he was English for fuck's sake. The Holyhead Harpies were his favorite team because the all women's roster was seriously hot and kicked tremendous amounts of ass both on and off the pitch.

Harry had became a fan of the Harpies shortly after Luca introduced him to the wonderful world of Quidditch. Despite having grown up watching football and rugby, Harry had never really found himself that enticed by either of the sports. But Quidditch... Quidditch he loved. It was only natural then that he'd deck himself out in merchandise that showed his support for his favorite team. The local branch of the Quidditch Club Store had all kinds of things one could buy to show the world their loyalties. Harry had purchased a few jerseys, roughly seven graphic t-shirts, two scarves with different designs, and to top everything off he bought two posters.

Poster number one simply featured the starting roster. The seven woman team was fully decked out in their uniforms and gear, and they had their game faces on. The star Beater and Captain of the team, Gwenog Jones, was standing up at the front, leading her team. The impressive woman had her club held aloft, ready to smash heads and bludgers both as she dominated her opposition with her team right behind her every step of the way. The aura it gave off was honestly quite intimidating – Harry wondered if it was charmed to be like that, or if Gwenog Jones really just had that much of a presence. Poster number two on the other hand was of a far more salacious variety. The suggestive work of _art_ featured the three starting Chasers, with rising star Valmai Morgan taking center stage. The three gorgeous woman were dressed in wonderfully skimpy and tight versions of their official uniform, leaving very, very little to the imagination; but what really sold the poster was that said gorgeous woman had posed while straddling their brooms in quite literally the most provocative positions imaginable. Harry had never been so thankful for the fact that magical pictures moved. And by the gods did these girls know how to _move._

"Ah, no worries there," Tom replied, waving off Harry's comment. "None of the owners, not me nor my many predecessors, have ever bothered to have structural runes installed. We have to repair things a bit more often, but the repairs are cheap; and I like to think they add to the character of this old place." Tom looked around the aged building with a warm smile.

Harry followed suit and really tried to get an appreciation for the nature of the Leaky Cauldron. Breathing deeply, Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus his nebulous sixth sense on more than just the obvious magic around him. Unclear on what, if anything, he might find, Harry ignored the wards and small sources of magic that were in every direction. He wasn't trying to focus on magic that had been cast or placed, but something deeper – something more intrinsic.

Harry no doubt left Tom quite confused as he fruitlessly examined the building. There was nothing to dive deeper in because there was simply nothing there. The spirit of the building was just the atmosphere perpetuated by the friendly staff and goodwill of the patrons. There was no magic, it was just placebo. Such is what logic would dictate anyway, but Harry had already learned his lesson on that front.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

_There!_

The smallest of flickers. A minuscule flash hinting at something more. Harry didn't know what exactly it was, but he could tell that it was in fact, something.

The sound of a plate being placed in front of Harry pulled him from his meditation.

"'Ere's your breakfast, lad." Some sausage and bacon piled high next to a few over-easy eggs, and a side of raw, sliced tomatoes. This simple but delicious breakfast had become his staple meal over the past few months.

Harry didn't let his disappointment about being pulled from his trance show on his features. Whatever he had felt was easily the most ephemeral piece of magic that he had been able to Sense yet. For all he knew it could just be a deeper aspect of magic buried into the wood itself, but even that brief flash had felt like something _more._ Based on what Ollivander had said there weren't many books on the subject of sensing, so it looked like this phenomenon was something he'd have to puzzle out on his own. Ah well, that was for another time.

"Thanks Tom, I'll miss your cooking when I'm gone."

Tom barked a laugh. "No you won't, lad. I can promise you that where you're going serves way better food than what I serve on your average day."

Harry raised a single eye-brow, silently urging the barkeep to explain while he enjoyed his morning meal.

"I'm telling the truth. Some of the best meals I ever 'ad came from my days at 'ogwarts," Tom nodded enthusiastically as he magically directed a pitcher of ale to refill the mug of another patron, already deep in her cups despite the early hour.

"Seriously? Meals that good came from a school?" Harry asked, nodding his thanks as a cup of tea was set before him.

"Oh, absolutely. There's supposedly scores of 'ouse elves specialized in cooking that work for the school," Tom sighed, a far off look entering his eyes. "What I wouldn't give to 'ave a 'ouse elf assist me around 'ere."

"Um hey, still new to magic – what's a house elf exactly?" Harry asked confusedly. The image of a brownie popping into his mind.

"They're these tiny, little creatures that are completely bald with these 'uge bulbous eyes. They clean, they cook, they 'elp with anything you need of them, really."

So they were almost exactly like a brownie, only better in every conceivable way. Harry had no need for one right now, but once he eventually got his own flat it might be a worthwhile investment. To have someone around that could cook and keep things tidy, that sounded like a dream come true. Harry technically could cook, but why would he want to when there were literally millions of other things he would rather be doing? The same logic applied to cleaning, only magnified by a factor of seven.

"They sound useful," Harry remarked, blowing on his tea to help it cool.

"Damn useful!" Tom agreed, slapping his rag on the counter. "Problem is they're expensive as all get-out."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned with the price should he eventually look into getting one. "Shame," he commiserated with the old man. The Leaky Cauldron saw a lot of business, but Harry doubted the low costs were conducive for making a lot of money. Tom struck him as the type that took over the establishment for no other reason than it was what he loved doing.

Tom glanced towards the large clock mounted on the wall behind the bar. "It's almost ten, lad. You best get moving soon. Wouldn't want to miss the train, now would you?"

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "I'm just flooing to the platform; but I still wanted to get there pretty early, so thanks." He downed the rest of his tea and reached out to shake Tom's hand. "It's been a pleasure, Tom. I'll see you next summer, yeah?"

Tom returned the handshake and nodded at the boy who'd been a near constant presence in his tavern for the past few months. "See you then, lad."

Wheeling his trunk behind him, Harry approached the large, mantled fireplace set up as an outbound floo passage. Dropping a few knuts into a currently bereft bowl, Harry scooped out a handful of the floo powder Tom had available and tossed it into the empty stone hearth.

"Platform nine and three quarters," Harry intoned, very deliberate in his enunciation.

Green flames that were utterly devoid of heat surged upwards in a brilliant display. Harry took a deep breath, and for the first time he walked forward into the magical fire. Floo travel was awful. It felt as though he was swiftly being pulled down a very tight drain. He shut his eyes tight, feeling as if his entire body was awhirl at a rapid pace, his recently consumed breakfast churning inside him. The roaring in his ears deafened him to all other sounds as he continued to spin. And spin. And spin. And spin. Just as he was on the verge of getting sick it was suddenly over.

Harry stumbled forward ever so slightly, most of his inertia magically washed away or never existing to begin with, he couldn't tell. The small coat of soot covering his person automatically dissipated, leaving him clean once more. Proper etiquette drilled into him after watching others use the floo for the past few months caused Harry to immediately step off of the exit grate and move to the side – therefore allowing that specific inbound floo passage to once more be available for use.

Standing out of the way of other passersby, Harry decided to take a moment to calm his still raging stomach. The next time he had to use the floo he was going to make sure at least an hour had passed since his last meal. Apparition and floo travel both were absolute murder on the stomach. No doubt they became more bearable the more familiar one was with them, but that wasn't much of a comfort to the young teen that still felt a bit nauseous from the magical journey.

Platform nine and three quarters was already teeming with life as students of varying ages wished their families farewell for the coming months before boarding the gargantuan scarlet steam engine. Harry was blown away by the sheer size of the hulking monstrosity. It dwarfed every other train he had ever heard of, let alone seen. Multiple stories tall, at least twice as wide as any other passenger train, and over a dozen carriages long – it was obvious, even from his comparatively ignorant perspective, that the Hogwarts Express was an unparalleled marvel of magical engineering. Even whilst barely focusing, Harry could easily sense the intricate magic at work within the locomotive. Comprehending what it was he was sensing was far beyond his rudimentary capabilities, but Harry was still awestruck by the majesty of the magical creation before him.

Harry was glad he'd arrived almost an hour early as the crowds were already pretty severe, he almost couldn't imagine how busy the platform would be in the final minutes before it left the station. There was on average over 1100 students that attended Hogwarts every year. Packing that many students plus their families onto the large platform all at once would've likely pushed it beyond capacity, but spread out over the course of an hour or two and it wasn't nearly so bad. The platform was still crowded, of course, but not unbearably so. Alice had requested to meet Harry before he boarded the train, but he'd politely declined. The two letters he'd thus far exchanged with his godmother had been quite enjoyable, honestly, but they were still exceedingly casual. Despite the relative success of their reunion, it was clear that neither of them was entirely sure what their relationship was supposed to be.

Harry was quite certain of what he did not want out of their relationship though – a parent. Alice was his godmother, he would not deny her that title, no matter how hollow it still rang. The truth of the matter was that he did quite like the woman, and he was inclined to get to know her further, but their relationship lacked foundation. While her desire to honor the obligations of the past made sense, the past was still the past in Harry's mind. He had genuinely forgiven her, but he wasn't eager to try and force a relationship for no reason; beyond that, he couldn't speak to what the future would hold. Regardless, saying goodbye to her at the platform would have been an experience far outside of his comfort zone. The single hug she'd given him outside the Nook had been awkward enough, he wasn't eager for a repeat performance. Alice had refrained from pushing him though, and for that he was thankful.

Harry grinned at the sight of a group of older students as they idly floated on brooms probably some fifty feet in the air. He couldn't wait to try flying for himself. If he had so chosen he could have gone to visit one of the many Quidditch Clubs and paid for some lessons. For most people, unless they knew someone that owned private land that was heavily warded against muggle sight, Quidditch Clubs and the extensive property they had at their disposal were the only places where they were legally allowed to recreationally fly. Harry was 100% certain that people flew outside of these areas all the time, but if seen by muggles the Ministry would levy some seriously hefty fines. Three instances of said fines and then they'd turn towards criminal charges, charges that could vary widely in scope. Harry only knew of this because he'd checked.

The Ministry Security Services, or M-sec as it was colloquially known, had a branch in Diagon Alley that was strictly devoted to keeping the peace in the largest magical district this side of the continent. Honestly, the building itself was nothing special. Just a large station attached to a small office building; it was unsurprisingly quite reminiscent of the police stations Harry had tried so hard to avoid in the muggle world. Inside the station a bunch of various M-sec officers milled about, some desk jockeys, others appearing to be field officers not currently working the streets – Harry's interest in them had been minimal either way.

It had turned out that Harry's questions on the legality of flying were far from being an uncommon occurrence. The man working the front desk had seemed disappointed that all he had to do was reach into a single drawer and pass along a small booklet. Harry was impressed that they had a detailed booklet outlining the law surrounding a singular area of interest. Said impressed attitude only lasted long enough for him to realize just how regulated flying was. To say he was disappointed did not do any justice at all to the immense sorrow he felt knowing he would likely never get to speed through the streets of London on a flying broom. Intellectually, a small part of him had already been aware of the probable impossibility of his dream, but it had still been quite the devastating blow all the same.

Though, such strict regulation on flying had brought to Harry's mind an entire separate line of questioning. It didn't make any sense to him that magic was able to be kept secret. Surely, after hundreds of years, someone would have dropped the ball on the existence of magic? Especially since cameras and video tapes had become commonplace, it just didn't make sense that magic was still a secret. His curiosity piqued, Harry had then asked the officer at the front desk about the Statute of Secrecy and how it was maintained, and once again he was handed a small booklet.

It turned out that there was more to the Statute of Secrecy than he had initially suspected. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised. The Veil was a magical haze that was forcefully settled over all muggles when the Statute of Secrecy went up in 1692. The Veil worked by causing muggles to simply not see or recognize magic; or if magic was seen, it forces muggles to somehow rationalize what should be impossible as something that makes sense. A wizard on a broom would either not be seen, or they would simply be a large bird that went flying by. A witch shooting a destructive spell clearly had a gun in her hand rather than a wand. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised.

Harry had been amazed to learn that the Statute of Secrecy was far more than just a law passed by the International Confederation of Wizards – it was the single largest and most well coordinated magical endeavor in the history of the known world. Thousands of wizards and witches all over the globe had channeled their magic into a single ritual circle, a circle that had a diameter extending over a mile long. One ritual, and the knowledge of magic was erased from every single muggle on Earth. In a flash, what was once commonplace did not exist to the majority of the world – their minds were rewritten and their histories changed, never again to be aware of the true supernatural.

As Harry had suspected, keeping muggles in a state of ignorance required more than just removing their memories a single time. There was still magic in the world, and all it would take was one untamed dragon to shatter the illusion that had been so carefully crafted – and so the Veil was conceived. The Veil, a way to ensure that muggles would never learn of the wonders that existed right beyond their doorstep. The Veil wasn't foolproof, of course; some humans were able to see through it better than others, and if the magic in question was blatant enough, anybody would be able to do so – hence the laws that every single magical country on Earth honored strictly. Making it illegal to directly use or cast any magic in front of a muggle that didn't already have ties to the magical world was commonly agreed upon as the best method to help keep the Veil in place. Which was why every single country magical country, along with the ICW itself, had entire task forces dedicated to nothing but maintaining the Statute of Secrecy by obliviating muggles and covering up every real piece of evidence that suggested magic was real. 'Muggles _must_ be kept ignorant' – that was the consensus that was shared by every single magical country for almost three hundred years.

Harry understood why the magical world wanted to stay hidden. If muggles knew about magic than it would undoubtedly lead to war. There was simply too much potential for danger. Muggles would either want to use magic, or they would fear it – and neither one of those were favorable outcomes. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that magicals would win said war, should it ever come to pass. Sure, muggles had bombs that could blow up cities – but would they know where to drop them? Magicals could teleport, read minds, dominate wills, vanish matter, and unravel physics. It was simply for the best that muggles remain ignorant of magic – their continued survival depended on it.

Mentally saluting the flying teens, Harry eventually reached one of the many ramps that led up and into the train, specifically the one that was closest to the locomotive itself. It barely felt like he was even walking onto a train, the scarlet behemoth was so far beyond anything he'd ever seen before that his natural expectations were having trouble keeping up with reality. Nothing about its size made sense, and yet thanks to magic, here it was. At the top of the ramp standing directly to the left of the doorway there was a smiling, middle aged man with a brown mustache dressed in a resplendent red conductor's uniform.

"Welcome, good sir! You're a first year, correct? I can always tell when someone is a first year! Ah, it's so good to have you aboard!" The conductor said, he was far too chipper for Harry's taste.

"Mhm," Harry nodded politely and tried to move past without responding. The longer he listened to this guy the greater his chance of getting a headache. He really did not want a headache on top of his still rattled stomach.

"Not so fast there, friend, I've got a few things I need to share with you."

Harry had never hated being called "friend" so much in his entire life. The lively conductor seemed so obnoxiously genuine in his exuberance, it was almost painful.

"This!" The man swept his hands in the air and gestured around him. "IS THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS!"

Harry decided to strike the almost, now it was actually painful.

"Requisitioned in 1827 by Minister Ottaline Gambol, the Hogwarts Express is the combined product of wizarding and goblin ingenuity!"

Loathe as he was to actually listen to the conductor's voice, the impromptu history lesson did still hold his interest to some extent.

"Goblins helped make this?" Harry asked, slightly surprised. His one and only experience with goblins thus far had been vexing to say the least. If the goblins involved with this project were Gringotts goblins then the wizards of the past had his sympathy.

"Indeed! The Revilgaz clan's experience with magical railways and carts was instrumental in the construction of this beautiful locomotive! Why, to this day there are a few goblin engineers that work on and service the train!"

_The Revilgaz clan, huh? That makes two distinct clans of goblins thus far._ Hopefully, if he encountered any of them, they wouldn't be complete cunts like the Gringotts goblins had been. Harry really fucking hated the Gringotts goblins. He didn't care how good at their jobs they were.

"That's nice," Harry remarked quickly, "can I go find a seat now?"

"Of course!"

_Thank you!_

"But only after I finish telling you about the layout of the train!"

_Fuck._

Harry mentally begged for someone, anyone, to walk up and take the conductor's attention away from him. "You have twelve seconds to finish your spiel, man, and then I'm walking away." He normally considered himself to be a fairly polite person, but there was something about this guy that was driving him up the goddamn walls.

The conductor's achingly genuine smile widened. He took a deep breath, and then he _spoke._ "My name is Clinton Magnolis and I shall be your conductor for today's journey. Cars four and twelve are dining cars where a number of food and beverage options are available for purchase. The second and third floors of car number one are reserved for the Head Boy, Head Girl, Prefects, and the conference they will hold; in the rare event that a teacher is on board, then they too are reserved a spot on the first car. Aside from those two designated areas, you are free to sit anywhere on the train. The sweets and tea trolleys will begin their rounds in approximately two hours time, we only ask that you please clean up after yourself the best that you are able. The entire journey to Hogsmeade Station will take exactly eight hours, forty two minutes, and thirty nine seconds regardless of any inclement weather or giant attacks. Please enjoy the ride!"

Harry stared at Clinton with wide eyes and his mouth agape, absolutely dumbfounded at the display of what could only be magic. It wasn't just that the conductor had spoken inhumanly fast – finishing his introduction in the exact time frame that Harry had allotted – it was also the fact that despite only picking up every third word, he somehow understood the exact meaning of what the man had said. "What – I don't – how?"

Clinton motioned him into the train proper with an elegant bow as Harry walked past him shaking his head. That conductor was _weird_ and Harry was more than content to not think about him further at this time. Looking around, the young teen realized that the interior of the train was larger and even more grand than he had expected; tastefully decorated and incredibly luxurious, the Hogwarts Express blew every other train in the world out of the water. While still reminiscent of the trains he knew in terms of layout, the spacious compartments and hallways almost caused him to forget that he was even on a train at all.

_Car Three, compartment H, got it,_ Harry thought to himself as he stored away his trunk. There weren't too many students on the train just yet, so he had picked a random open compartment after meandering through the first few cars. He had no intention of spending the entire trip inside of his compartment, not when there were so many things to do and people to meet. Which people were actually worth meeting was the question though. Harry was an extrovert, there was no question on that front, but he'd rather avoid conversing with fools if he could avoid it.

Harry decided to head to the dining car and enjoy a nice cuppa while he waited for 11 o'clock to roll around. Claiming a seat by the window, Harry idly watched the throngs of families as they bid farewell to the children they wouldn't see for months. It surprisingly wasn't a particularly sad affair – despite his expectations, it looked like bidding your kids goodbye for such a lengthy amount of time was just another aspect of wizarding culture. Harry knew numerous people back in the muggle world who's parents would have never consented to such an arrangement; and even if they had, the goodbyes would have been tragic displays filled with ugly tears and long hugs. Magicals just did things differently he supposed.

"You would not BELIEVE the morning I've had!"

Harry jolted his attention to the voice of the young witch that had just unexpectedly claimed the seat across from him without so much as a greeting. An exceedingly attractive girl around his age, with lightly curled dirty blonde hair, dressed in a white crop top that stopped just shy of where Harry guessed her belly button was, and a pair of navy-blue overalls with one of the shoulder straps hanging loosely at her side.

"Hello to you, too," Harry said bemusedly; more than happy to entertain the voluptuous young woman, but still perplexed by her sudden entry into his life.

"Oh yeah, hi!" The strange girl smiled at him, showing off pearly white teeth. "So back to my morning, yeah – okay, so my mum KNOWS how I like to be early to things, right?"

As the forward young woman launched into her story without a moment's hesitation, Harry settled back into his seat with an amused expression, resigned to the fact that he would be hearing about her terrible, no-good, very bad morning.

"She knows this! That's why I packed the night before. That's why I had most of my things laid out for this morning. OH, and I even gave Leesy strict instructions to wake me up by 7:30!"

Harry had no clue what a 'Leesy' was but he nodded along anyway. "You had it all planned out," he agreed.

"Exactly!" The brazen girl didn't even ask before pouring herself a cup of tea from the small pot he had ordered. _Sure, you can have a cup._ Ah well, she was cute. Harry had a habit of letting cute girls get away with things he would happily smack others upside the head for.

"The plan was perfect – we'd floo over around 9:45 and have all of our goodbyes done before 10:15, this way I could be happily on board the train and ready to go by 10:30."

Harry glanced at the clock that clearly displayed 10:39 and wondered what was wrong with the girl.

"But nooo~, right before we're about to leave the house mum walks up and starts bitching about my outfit!" The young woman huffed and took a sip of her tea, she made a face and proceeded to add copious amounts of sugar and a healthy splash of milk. Harry made a mental note to talk to her about that at some point; tea with that much sugar was downright American.

"That seems a bit rude of her," Harry concurred, innocently inspecting the outfit of his spontaneous companion once more. _No complaints from this side of the table,_ he mused. As a healthy teenage male, he thought her clothes were perfectly fine and acceptable. If anyone tried to claim that his evaluation was influenced by how well her outfit showed off her body then they were clearly a liar.

"Merlin, you don't know the half of it," she took another sip of her drink and nodded happily, seemingly pleased that she'd vanquished the flavor of tea. "Today she was like, 'you can't go out dressed like that, look at how much cleavage you're showing off!'"

The girl's dramatic re-enactment caused Harry to almost choke on his drink. The voice she used to mock her mother was clearly one she was well practiced with.

"And I was like, 'yes mum, I know I have big tits, thanks for pointing out the obvious.'"

Harry burst out laughing at her blunt declaration, barely managing to not spill his drink in the process. This girl was odd, no doubt about that, but damn he liked her so far. "No argument from me on that front," he chuckled.

She raised an eye-brow and wryly grinned at him, "you would have to be a either liar or blind to argue with me there."

Harry again chuckled at the young woman's brazen attitude and returned to looking out the window; with only twenty minutes left until the train departed, the platform was positively flooded with people. Harry wasn't normally the type of individual that cared for arriving early, but he was glad for his foresight today. Trudging through those crowds looked like pure hell.

"Before you share with me the finer details of your argument with your mother, can I get a name to work with?" Harry asked, cutting off the girl in question before she could continue her story.

"Whoops, my friends all tell me I can be rude sometimes – my name is Lavender Brown," the now identified Lavender shook Harry's proffered hand.

"Harry Evans, charmed."

"Anywho, so after I mentioned my tits my mum got even more offended; which is weird since I got these from her." Lavender mimed grabbing her chest but stopped short of giving the world a free show. "Then she started on one of her modesty rants again, but I've gotten pretty good at tuning those things out."

"Modesty rants are a regular thing with her?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

Lavender nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh yeah, they've become a weekly thing of late," she briefly paused to take a large drink of sugar with a bit of tea. "She has actually stopped me from leaving the house multiple times before because I was wearing a Swish and Flick shirt. Can you believe that?"

"Swish and Flick?" Harry wasn't familiar with the name of what he assumed was a band. Even in the muggle world music hadn't been a topic he was particularly interested in. The popular bands and top singles he was familiar with, but anything besides what made it to the top of the charts and it was beyond his sphere of knowledge.

"You haven't heard of Swish and Flick?" Lavender looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach and then she'd seen a ghost. "OH MY GOD!" She yelled, unsurprisingly gaining the attention of half the passengers in the car. The humongous grin on her face gave Harry less than a second's warning before he was rammed over at full speed by the power of a fan-girl. "Oh my god! I don't know how you haven't heard of them, but they're literally the coolest band in the history of everything!"

Harry recoiled slightly, "I'm about to learn all about them, aren't I?" He asked, hoping to whatever higher power might exist that the band in question didn't have a long history.

The apprehension in his voice must have been obvious because Lavender deflated in her chair with a disappointed look and replied, "not if you don't want to, no."

Well that wasn't going to work. Harry had a thing about making cute girls sad – he liked to call it "don't." The possibility that she could just be faking her disappointment was acknowledged and immediately cast aside because Harry didn't care – he was now going to learn about Swish and Flick even if it killed him. Gods above, he really could be the biggest sucker in the world sometimes.

"You have twenty minutes to start off with," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself as Lavender immediately perked up. _This obsession might be a bit unhealthy,_ Harry thought. Just talking about a band should not result in such drastic shifts in mood... Ah well, he'd refer to it as her passion for now and leave it at that. "After twenty minutes we'll reevaluate and go from there."

Lavender nodded happily. "Right, so the band was formed by five friends who all went to Hogwarts together back in eighty-four –"

Harry contentedly leaned back his chair with his drink in hand, ready to learn about the band that gut instinct told him he would become intimately familiar with over the next seven years. Hell, he had a gut-feeling that listening to Lavender in general would become a very familiar pastime going forward; and honestly, based on his first impressions of the girl, he was okay with that.

**OoooOoooO**

_"Please?"_

_"No."_

_"Pretty please?"_

_"No."_

_"What if I add a cherry on top?"_

_"Maybe, but I want an actual cherry."_

_"Daph~! You know that's not fair!"_

_"You're the one that wants to go meet the Boy-Who-Lived, not me. You have to make it worth my while."_

_"Helping your best friend isn't worthwhile to you?"_

_"Nice try, but no."_

_"But he's like your cousin or something! You have an in!"_

_"You do realize that not every pure-blood is closely related, right?"_

_"Well, for like five minutes can we just pretend that you're his cousin?"_

_"Tracey, he's like five compartments down from us. Just go chat with him if you really want to."_

_"But I'll be outnumbered..."_

_"Didn't you say he already had two friends with him?"_

_"Uh huh."_

_"So even if I do go we'll still be outnumbered."_

_"You tend to scare people, so I always count you as two, sometimes three if you've had a really bad day."_

_"Thank you?"_

_"You're welcome!"_

_"Smiling at me like that isn't going to help."_

_"Then what will help? Because I really want to go meet him. Ever since he did that interview for the Prophet a year ago I've had a crush on him, you know this!"_

_"I still don't understand why you like him so much."_

_"Why don't you? He's cute, rich, smart, sweet, and did I mention cute?"_

_"Merlin, Trace..."_

_"Don't judge me, you know I have a weakness for cute boys."_

_"Fine, you win. I'll come."_

_"You're the best, Daph! Have I ever told you that?"_

_"Yes, you have, and I'm going to want to hear it at least three more times once you're done flirting and in the process of getting me a cherry."_

_"You really want a cherry now, huh?"_

_"I'll take any food at this point. I could eat a hippogriff right now."_

_"That's what you get for waking up late."_

_"It's not my fault my bed was comfy..."_

**OoooOoooO**

Ron Weasley could honestly say that when he woke up that morning he had no idea that he would be sharing a compartment with the Boy-Who-Lived while on the train to Hogwarts. Everyone knew who Daniel Potter was. _Everyone._ The guy's name was more well known than practically anyone else in the last century aside from Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and You-Know-Who. Famous beyond belief and he was just sitting there, chatting away like he was just another teenager. To most people Daniel Potter was a hero. His story was one of undeniable tragedy, yes, but that just made the world even more thankful to him. A living testament to the fact that good triumphed over evil – an icon of hope in a world that could always use some more of it. Given that he was only a baby at the time, Ron obviously had no memories of when You-Know-Who terrorized the country, but his eldest brothers had told him stories about those dark days.

The way their mother used to watch the family clock every time their dad went to work. How none of the kids were allowed outside of the wards, and how their mum still preferred them to stay inside the house, even during the day. The nervous conversations their parents would have in hushed tones when they thought the children couldn't hear or see them. Their uncles' funeral that none of the kids had been allowed to attend, and how their mum had been utterly inconsolable for weeks afterwards.

Even hearing about the effects the war had on his family secondhand had left Ron with a deep-seated gratitude towards the Potters – the family that had brought an end to it all. Ron knew that Daniel Potter was only a baby when You-Know-Who attacked, but he was grateful all the same. Even if he didn't remember what had happened, he had still paid a price – a price that Ron would never personally wish to pay for anything. Orphaned at age one. Famous because he survived when his family was slaughtered. Ron couldn't imagine what that was like.

When Ron had accidentally almost knocked Neville Longbottom over while trying to lug his trunk up one of the ramps, he was sure that he was going to die out of a mix of frustration and embarrassment. The trunk was Charlie's old one. It had multiple expanded compartments so he couldn't complain too much; but unfortunately the lightening enchantments had stopped working, which honestly explained why his brother had passed it down to him in the first place. Bill had guessed that the runes used to help seal the 'poorly cast' enchantments as permanent had simply faded with time. Given that the trunk in question was older than even Charlie was, it wasn't exactly a surprise that it was breaking down. Bill was an absolute genius when it came to runes, and he had promised to fix the trunk at some point. Repairing the enchanted trunk was apparently much harder than it sounded; Ron had asked if he could just fix it then and there but he had been soundly rebuffed.

_'The expansion and lightening enchantments are both attached to the same runic array, Ron – a patented array. If I break into the patent seal to look at the array then I'll be breaking the law. If the patent seal is still functioning properly it will alert the manufacturers, and they could have M-sec come down on me for theft. I could of course circumvent the patent seal because I'm me, but that's extremely illegal and could even get me locked up in Azkaban if it was discovered I'd done so. I will fix your trunk, I promise, but I'll have to build an entire separate runic array that interacts with the first seamlessly. The difficulty in doing so is that I don't know exactly how the original array reads, and by extension I don't know how it will interact with the new enchantments I'm adding nor the runes I'm trying to inscribe. There will be a bit of trial and error, some guesswork, but I should still be able to do it without issue – but it will take some time.'_

Ron knew that Bill was good on his word, and eventually he would roll back into town having put together the perfect solution to leave his trunk even better than when it was first enchanted. Ron had accepted that it would be awhile though. Bill would probably enjoy the project because he was weird like that, but he also had a full-time job that kept him busy. Ron would be a right prat if he pestered his brother to help him when the guy was in the middle of working his dream job.

So that meant he had a trunk that could easily store all of his belongings, but it also weighed a metric fuck-ton. Even with both of the twins actively maintaining levitation charms on the blasted thing, it was still a royal pain in the arse to move up and onto the train – especially when their pitiful attempts resulted in one of the wheels sliding off the ramp. Ron was certain that the small crowd of amused onlookers would spread jokes about how many Weasleys it took to get a trunk onto a train. He had to admit that it was probably a fairly amusing sight, but he was absolutely going to help Fred and George remember their faces for future revenge. Weasleys always got even – that was just how they were.

It took them far longer than it should have, but eventually, through the combined mix of magic and the bodily strength of three tall teenage guys, the Merlin-be-damned trunk was successfully hoisted up and onto the train. It was of course at that exact moment that Neville Longbottom had been walking by and was thus almost bowled over by Ron and his ungodly heavy trunk. What followed was a quick exchange of apologies as both boys tried to take the blame for the narrowly avoided incident. They then introduced themselves, and just like that Neville invited Ron to come sit with him and his 'brother.'

In hindsight, it should have been obvious to whom Neville was referring to as his brother. Everybody knew that the Longbottoms had adopted the Boy-Who-Lived and retreated from the world after the Potter family was all but wiped out. Ron didn't consider himself the most knowledgeable individual when it came to politics or the Wizengamot, but even he knew that the Longbottoms were a very old, very powerful family. The world would notice them retreating even if they hadn't taken in Daniel Potter, but since they had it was front-page worthy news.

Besides, Ron had read the interview Daniel gave the Prophet about a year back; he didn't keep a framed copy on his wall like Ginny did, but he had read it a time or two when it circulated the news for a few weeks. In the interview, Daniel specifically made note of how he considered the Longbottoms to be his family. It couldn't get any more blatant that that.

Ron held no illusions when it came to his intellectual prowess, he was cut from the same cloth as Charlie rather than Bill, Percy, or the twins (much as they tried to hide it). He wasn't dumb by any means, but he was more of an action oriented kind of guy rather than the scholarly and contemplative type. Even then though, his inability to associate Neville Longbottom with Daniel Potter was quite the embarrassing error. Ron felt that he deserved the good-natured chuckles from Neville and Daniel in response to his stammering when he realized just who it was that had been waiting inside the compartment. He could appreciate a bit of friendly ribbing; growing up with five older brothers and a very cheeky little sister taught him to not get offended over the little things.

Ron couldn't help but stare at the infamous scar on Daniel's forehead after he'd introduced himself and taken his seat, but he had refrained from asking any insensitive questions and instead just chatted with him like he was any other bloke. It was almost surreal just how ordinary Daniel Potter seemed. Expectations must have gotten to Ron's head more than he thought since he felt so surprised by the normal, casual atmosphere that permeated the compartment.

The three boys must have been sitting there and chatting for over an hour when the door was abruptly thrown open.

"How's it going, little brother. Hey, did you know there's like twenty people gathered around outside this compartment all just whispering about you?"

Ron was rather bewildered by the sudden entry of the boy around their age that looked pretty damn similar to Daniel. If Daniel took off the glasses, pierced his ears, grew out his hair and lazily tied it back, Ron wasn't sure if he would be able to tell the two of them apart. Oh, and the newcomer affectionately referred to Daniel as 'little brother,' that was weird too.

"I didn't notice, but I'm not surprised – hey, what took you so long? We agreed to meet up on the train before it took off."

Okay, so Daniel expected this guy would show up. That knocked off some of the apprehension he felt, but it still left him with a fair bit of confusion.

"And now we are meeting up," Daniel's look-alike said with a grin, idly brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes as he plopped down on the seat next to Ron.

"We left the station over an hour and a half ago," Daniel argued. Even through his bafflement, Ron could tell there was no heat in their bickering – it reminded him of his own interactions with his siblings, actually.

"I got held up talking to this really cute bird in the dining car. And let me tell you, this girl is something else. So, I'm just sitting there, enjoying my tea when -"

"Umm, who are you?" Ron asked, interrupting the newcomer's tale.

The strange clone of Daniel turned towards Ron with a surprised look on his face, he paused and considered the red-head when a flash of understanding showed in his eyes. Without hesitation he smiled and extended his hand, "I'm Harry Evans, Daniel's evil twin -"

"Would you please stop introducing yourself like that?"

"- that was deemed too dangerous to be raised around magic, so I was raised in the muggle world instead. Pleased to meet you," Harry trailed off expectantly, clearly waiting for Ron to return the address.

Ron smiled at the strange introduction and gladly shook Harry's hand. "Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled and then returned to his story, gesticulating every little detail as he did so – from sipping tea to the size of the girl's breasts, he mimed it all.

"And then she just started commenting on my hair and gave me this hair-tie," Harry said, turning slightly and pointing to where he'd haphazardly tied it up.

"Mate, that's a scrunchie, not a hair-tie," Ron laughed, even for someone he just met he was not about to let him get away without that distinction being made.

"Damn, I was really hoping no one would notice that."

"Are those prancing unicorns?" Neville leaned in to get a better look.

Daniel followed suit and he immediately looked like Christmas had come early. "Oh my god, they are." Ron had only known Daniel for an hour or so, but he couldn't imagine the guy looking more pleased than he did at that moment.

"Yeah, the unicorns aren't my favorite, but it was the only one she had in her bag that was mostly dark colored, so I took it," Harry shrugged, trying to give off the impression that he didn't care. He wasn't fooling anybody. "You think I should've gone with the bright red one instead? Maybe the sky blue?"

"Nope, this is perfect," Daniel hadn't taken his eyes off his brother's hair, for a moment Ron swore he saw his pupils turn into hearts. "Nev, grab the camera!"

"What makes you think I have a camera?" Neville, or Nev as he seemed to go by, asked, bemused by the request.

Daniel pulled back away from his twin to look askance at his adopted brother.. "Mum asked you to bring one to Hogwarts. If you didn't bring one we've gotta pick one up somehow. She'll be super upset if we have no pictures to show her come Christmas."

Neville's eyes widened considerably as he pointed at himself, mouth agape. "Me? She asked me? Daniel, I was there, she clearly asked you!"

Ron was greatly enjoying the byplay as he munched on one of the four sandwiches his mum had made for him. Corned beef was bloody disgusting, but food was food and Ron Weasley was not the type of person that let good food go to waste. 'Good' may have been a stretch for corned beef, but it wasn't poisonous, and that was enough for him.

"I know I wasn't there, but she probably asked you," Harry cut in, pointing towards Daniel while solemnly nodding his head. "I'll remember you both fondly when Frank kills you for making Alice cry."

Both Neville and Daniel looked at Harry incredulously. "You've made her cry more than anyone!" They both accused.

Harry shrugged unconcernedly, opening up one of Ron's sandwiches – apparently having snagged one for himself at some point – and taking a bite. He chewed exactly three times before shuddering as he swallowed. "No offense, Ron, but these sandwiches are fucking rubbish. Corned beef? Seriously?"

"It's pretty minging, right?" Ron agreed as he took another bite.

Harry seemed downright horrified by Ron's actions and abruptly pulled the sandwich out of his hand. "Hey! I was eating that," Ron said around a mouthful of the world's worst sandwich. He may not have been overly fond of the food, but he was still going to protest its absence – especially since it was the only thing he had available.

"I can't in good conscience let any friend of mine eat that filth. Come on, let's go to the dining car. I could use something that actually tastes pleasant to clear my palate." Harry stood and turned towards the door while Ron slumped back in his own seat.

"You go ahead," Ron muttered dispiritedly, "I'll just eat this stuff." He tried not to sound bitter towards Harry for having the money to live so freely. Being poor sucked, yeah, but he'd come to terms with it years ago. Acting like a petty child in regards to his family's finances had caused his mum to cry once. That had been an eye-opener on its own. Percy's lecture helped him understand their family's situation. Fred and George both hexing him had really made the lesson stick. Ginny setting fire to his Chudley Cannons' posters was just cruel though.

"No need for that," Harry said happily as he motioned Ron to come with him. "Let's go get some good food."

"Don't have the money, mate."

Harry sighed but remained by the door as he stared Ron down. "I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't intend to pay, you know?"

Ron waved off the admittedly kind offer but still didn't move from his seat. "I appreciate it, Harry, I really do – but I don't do the whole charity thing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Cut the stubborn pride shit, and let's go grab a bite, please," He huffed as he bounced in place, clearly eager to leave the compartment.

"Hey, let's not insult anybody, yeah?" Daniel stepped in between them with outstretched arms.

"Just leave it, Harry," Neville added, his voice stern.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the black-haired teen but didn't bother responding. Harry was trying to be nice by offering to pay for his meal, yeah, but even though he'd accepted his family's financial status years ago it still wasn't something he was happy about. It wasn't the type of thing he felt like advertising anymore than he already did with his prepacked food and second-hand clothes.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry exclaimed, annoyed by the turn of events and glaring at the two censuring him. "Two months ago I was literally buying half my meals using the money I got from pick-pocketing tourists while they shopped at Harrods. I know what its like to be poorer than dirt better than both of you, so save it!"

Ron gaped at the young teen, scarcely believing his own ears. "But the Potters are rich!" He blurted out. The Potters were another one of those wealthy and politically involved families that had a lot of money to their name. Admittedly, most people only knew so much about them thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived being a Potter. They were an old family, but up until Daniel Potter became the most famous baby in Britain they'd been a fairly private one.

"I didn't know I was a Potter until recently – hence my last name being Evans," Harry responded blankly, leaning up against the door-frame. "My foster parent had seven other kids to feed and take care of. I could help her out by scrounging for my own cash, so that's what I did."

Daniel was morose as he reclaimed his cushioned seat. "I didn't know things were that bad for you. Mum said Miss Morrison had a nice place..."

Harry inclined his head towards his brother in acknowledgment. "The house and cars were paid off years prior thanks to the money she got from her family. But the pension she receives as a soldier's widow is minimal, and the subsidies she gets for fostering amounts to enough to survive, but all in total its not enough to give the young kids in her care the lives they really deserve."

Ron was still stunned by the rapid reveals about Harry's life. He watched in silence as the now broody teen opened the compartment window and smoothly stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Well, that confirmed that he was raised by muggles, at least. Ron only knew what those things were because two years prior he had woken up in the middle of the night while Charlie was trying to sneak out of the house. His second oldest brother then proceeded to borrow their dad's Ford Angela and drive off towards the nearby muggle town. After confronting him the next day, he showed Ron the muggle liquor and 'carton of smokes' that he'd purchased.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harry?" Daniel asked, intently watching his twin. "Didn't we agree to be honest with each other?"

Harry breathed heavily out the open window, the smoke creating a small trail as the train sped past. "I knew you and Morals-Mcgee over there would get on my case about it." Harry lazily gestured over to Neville who was quietly muttering to himself.

"Stealing is wrong, but he did it for a noble reason... But do the ends justify the means? It's in the past, but does he acknowledge it was wrong? It's complicated but -" Neville looked up, having only just realized that the other three people in the compartment were all staring at him. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a prat, I just..." He trailed off briefly before firming his resolve. "Stealing isn't a victimless crime, Harry. Even with your good intentions, that's not the type of thing I'm okay with."

Harry rolled his eyes and returned to looking out the window, muttering quietly about shoving a silver spoon up Neville's arse.

Ron had always been told that theft was wrong, but when he was actually confronted by someone admitting to having stolen things he found he really didn't care. Especially not with the reason Harry had supplied. "No judgment from me," Ron said, countering Neville's more strict and lawful stance.

Daniel looked disappointed and turned towards Neville, the two became engaged in a rapid but hushed argument. Ron couldn't quite make out what they were saying and decided it wasn't his place to intrude on their private conversation, even if he could easily guess the topic.

"I get it, Ron, I do," Harry spoke up once more, his voice slightly muffled as he leaned out the window. "That whole idea about not wanting anyone to look down on you because you don't have money – I get it."

Ron rose from his seat and joined Harry in leaning out the large window. He silently accepted the cigarette offered to him, but made no move to place it in his mouth.

"Just answer me this one question," Harry paused, but Ron immediately nodded at him to continue. "What good does it do? What do you accomplish by stubbornly refusing everything people offer you? I mean, you turned down a simple meal from me – but what's the point?"

Ron wasn't sure he had an answer for that. Situations where he turned down the kind offers of others didn't exactly happen a lot, so he hadn't given much thought to the reason why. No one was proud to be poor, that much was obvious. When someone turned down the charity of others it was a way to show that despite facing financial woes, they were still capable of standing on their own two feet. That they could make it in the world without having to rely on others for help. Was that really nothing more than stubborn pride?

"I only just figured it out right now, but do you know what it looks like from the outside? What it looks like when you turn down a meal from a friend?" Harry queried, now watching Ron intently. He didn't bother waiting for a reply. "It just draws more attention to how poor you are."

Ron didn't respond as he watched the smoke make patterns in the air before succumbing to the pressure of the wind.

"I hadn't even thought about the reason why you had sandwiches," Harry continued. "It wasn't until you made a point of turning down my offer that it became apparent."

Ron's ears reddened. "Thought it was obvious between my clothes and the food," he mumbled despondently.

There was never a time Ron hadn't been aware of how poor his family was. It was just the type of thing all the kids had been aware of. They knew to expect hand-me-downs rather than brand new clothes. Well, except for Ginny of course. As the only girl, none of the boys were exactly up in arms that she got new things. They weren't about to force their baby sister to wear boy's clothes, after all. But aside from her, they knew they were wearing clothes that had no lasting enchantments – clothes they'd seen on their siblings hundreds of times in the past. If something broke they had to try and fix it themselves, because there wasn't a chance in hell that they would be able to afford a new one. The kids never asked for expensive brooms or shiny, enchanted toys. The older model would work just fine, they'd find something else that was fun to play with.

The Weasleys weren't completely destitute by any means, but a family of nine subsisting off the income of one earner took its toll. Bill and Charlie being out of the house helped a fair bit, but that was a comparatively recent development after so many years of being at home. Not to mention the fact that any time it seemed like the Weasley family might finally be getting a leg-up, they were hit back down, hard. Dad got a bonus at work, time for Dragon Pox to sweep the country and force two of the kids into St Mungos for weeks. Bill moves out and is entirely self reliant, time for one of the old anchoring stones for the wards to break. That was just the life of the Weasleys.

"You really think it was _that_ obvious? That's just you being insecure, mate," Harry said bluntly.

_Am I really just being insecure?_ Ron wasn't convinced it was quite that simple, but he couldn't deny the logic. Most people probably didn't think much of their friend offering to pay for lunch. To Harry, the idea that he'd pay may not have even been a conscious decision.

Harry reached over and lit the cigarette still held loosely in Ron's fingers, "feel free to either smoke that or pass it back this way, up to you."

Ron considered the small white and yellow cylinder in his hands. He recalled how Charlie told him not to tell their mother about his purchases lest she kill him and bury the body out back. _I'm on my way to Hogwarts, might as well have some fun._ Ron brought it up to his mouth and inhaled deeply.

"Ah, shit! Not that much -"

Ron quickly turned green and started coughing, Harry chuckled lightly as he patted his back. "Thanks for – the warning," Ron barely managed to get out in between coughs.

"Sorry mate, forgot to mention that part. No biggie though, literally everyone I know did the same thing. Including me." Ron found it a bit difficult to think of Harry's apologies as sincere when he was laughing so much. "It's more of an initiation rather than a rookie mistake. The proper method is to breathe in a bit, hold the smoke in your mouth for a second, and then inhale the smoke into your lungs. It's far more pleasant that way."

Ron tried again, the proper way apparently, and he still hated it. Harry chuckled once more as Ron passed the smoke back to him. "Not sure smoking is really my thing, mate," Ron leaned out the window even further to take in the nice, clean air as he tried to expunge the remaining smoke from his lungs.

"It's not most people's thing," Harry shrugged, tapping the loose ashes off. "Hey, good on you though for actually trying before making your decision. My general motto for life is 'I'll try anything once', so, respect."

_I'll try anything once, huh? Not a bad motto._ Harry's maxim for life was honestly something Ron liked the thought of. Gryffindors had daring and nerve, didn't they? There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would be a Gryffindor, it didn't hurt to start living up to the reputation expected of him even before he got to Hogwarts.

"Good way to live," Ron agreed.

Harry grinned and suddenly pointed his wand towards the two cigarettes in his hand. _"Desinae,"_ he intoned, his wand tip moving in a circle. The lightly burning ends of the cigarettes abruptly stopped glowing, and Harry stuck the apparently cooled remains in his back pocket. "I'll dispose of those properly later, flicking them out windows is a dick move. Now, come on!" Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and moved towards the door.

"What? Where are you going?" Daniel asked, having been drawn away from his ongoing debate with Neville by his twin's antics.

"Ron and I settled our differences, and now we're going to go grab a bite," Harry confidently declared.

"I didn't agree to that!" Ron contested. The guy may have made a few good points, but Ron still wasn't sure he wanted to accept his new friend's offer.

Harry cocked his head to the side quizzically as he looked back at Ron. "You just said you'll try anything once. It's time to try letting me buy you some food so you don't have to eat literal shit."

"Corned beef is not that bad you guys," Neville interjected.

"Yes, it is," Harry and Ron said in unison, grinning at one another in surprise.

Ron _had_ just agreed to the daring adage, but he was still reticent on accepting charity. "Low blow, mate," he accused. Harry probably knew it was a low blow, hell, it was probably why he had said it.

"First rule of being poor and not stuck at home, Ron," Harry began sagely, his pointer finger held aloft as if delivering a lecture. "Never – and I mean _never_ – turn down free food. Not only does free food taste better because it's free, but free things in general are good. That means free food is practically good-squared."

Ron blinked once. Twice. A third time. Though he didn't quite understand why, the strange logic was slowly finding a foothold in his mind. "Free things are good," he muttered softly. Harry's humorous delivery aside, he was trying to take the words to heart. Obviously the food wasn't legitimately free since it was being paid for, but Harry's persistence showed how little he actually cared about spending money on good food. Ron honestly wanted to accept the offer – he really, really hated corned beef – so if he turned his friend down, wasn't that nothing more than stubborn pride?

"Exactly! And since I'm both rich, and an epicurean by nature, sticking with me means lots of free things!" Harry was obviously trying to sell him on his way of thinking... and damn, it was kind of working.

"Free food is especially good," Ron repeated, he wasn't sure what an epicurean was, but the gist of Harry's words were still finding purchase within. _Why would I not accept when a friend is offering? I'm poor either way, but there's no benefit to be gained if I turn him down, right? If Harry really doesn't mind spending the gold, then why would I turn him down...?_

Daniel watched as Harry continued to tempt Ron with food like a siren would tempt sailors with the promise of sex. "Harry's got him hooked now," he sighed. "Neville, when he eventually gets me too, remember me as I was."

"Don't worry, Daniel, I will."

The more Ron thought about it, the more he was really coming around. Yes, he was poor, but that didn't mean he had to wallow in self-absorbed unhappiness and act like a sad sack to the first friends he'd met on the train. Accepting his friend's generous invitation didn't make him a charity case at all. Harry's invitation to get food when he knew Ron couldn't pay had nothing to do with him being a burden, it meant that Harry honestly just wanted to invite him to come along. It wasn't pity – it was kindness!

_Besides, I can always pay him back later when I'm rich and famous!_

"Alright, Harry," Ron started as Harry began fist pumping the air, "I think you've convinced me, let's go get some food!"

"That is what I'm talking about, Weasley!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "That little voice in the back of your head, his name is Inhibition, and he's a right fucking bastard. Stick with me and you'll quickly learn how to drown him in a river and get rid of the body!"

There was a brief moment of silence in the compartment. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Neville asked, seemingly convinced more than ever that Harry was mentally unstable.

"He's right, Harry," Daniel chimed in, a slightly concerned look in his eyes, "you've got problems."

Ron on the other hand was grinning ear to ear. Sure, the metaphor was a bit violent, but the spirit of it was about cutting loose, and that sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

Ron wasn't like his eldest brother – he didn't share the almost prodigious level of talent Bill displayed when it came to magic; nor the desire to go places where others didn't dare to and unravel the world's secrets. He wasn't like Charlie with his love for dragons and competition; nor did he have the same level of skill that he had on a broom. Percy and his academic drive – his unparalleled need to make sure his name, their _family_ name, was remembered by history. Ron didn't have anything like that. He wasn't Fred or George either. Their love of pranks, their talent for originality, and their shared ability to make someone laugh regardless of how bad their day was – that skill set belonged to them and them alone.

Ron wasn't his brothers, and that was okay because none of his brothers were exactly alike either. Each of the Weasley brood was unique in their own way. Ron admired his brothers for the individual talents and abilities they had; the lives and paths they'd already attained or were still in the process of carving out for themselves. By the time Ron graduated, he was going to make sure all of his siblings could look at him and think that he had something that was worth admiring.

Ron had sworn years ago that he was done feeling envious of his brothers, and now it was time to for him to swear off feeling sorry for himself because he was poor. He was going to start by grabbing some good food with his new, strange friend that had a wicked grin and a glint in his eye. Fuck his insecurities about money. Fuck his lazy desire to fall back on the cushion and eat his disgusting sandwich. There were a million interesting things that he could do each day and damn it all, he was going to start experiencing them for himself because he was Ron-Fucking-Weasley!

"Bloody hell, I think I just had an epiphany," Ron exclaimed, his own thought processes taking him by surprise.

"Atta' boy, Weasley!" Harry encouraged. "Tell me all about it once we've placed our order! See you later, Daniel." Harry stepped out the door before sticking his head back inside and offering Neville a halfhearted wave. "You too, Nev, I guess."

Ron grinned at the two remaining boys and offered a more enthusiastic wave of his own. "Bye, guys!" And though he never would have guessed it at the start of his day, Ron Weasley left the compartment containing the Boy-Who-Lived to go hang out with his slightly mad twin.

Forced to stop behind the slightly shorter boy after closing the door behind him, Ron realized there were in fact a number of people standing around in the hallway, all of them keeping a weather eye on the known location of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Follow my lead," Harry whispered quietly before he suddenly clapped his hands and called out loudly. "Alright then ladies and gents, Daniel Potter will now be receiving fans and well wishers!"

Ron had to disguise his laugh as a cough to keep from ruining Harry's charade. Ron may not have loved practical jokes as much as Fred or George, but he still had a healthy respect for messing with one's siblings.

"Only two people at a time, please," Harry continued. "We still have plenty of time on the train and I will remind you that we are all attending the same school. Autographs and pictures are okay, but please refrain from asking any crass personal questions."

Ron honestly couldn't believe it when a facsimile of a line began to form. _This is brilliant._

There were two girls at the front of the line, one a blonde, the other a brunette. Both girls were exceptionally attractive and appeared to be around their age. Ron wasn't exactly the most experienced bloke when it came to girls, but that was another thing he intended to change now that he was at Hogwarts.

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow at Harry imperiously. "And who are you to dictate such rules?"

Harry accepted the challenge without hesitation. A cocksure smile in place, he took a small step forward so the surprisingly short girl had to actively look up to maintain eye contact. "My name is Harry Evans, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and right now I'm the one telling you how its going to be if you want get inside and see Daniel." Harry capped off his dramatic introduction with a small wink.

Ron wasn't able to disguise his laughter that time. If that moment had been Ron's introduction to the guy he probably would've hated him, but he knew to look for the signs that Harry was just fucking with the cute blonde. The titles were all real, but the attitude was just an act.

Ron could see the shock and suspicion painted across everyone's features. It was one thing to hear the Boy-Who-Lived had a brother – honestly Ron was still catching up to that point – but to hear it brazenly declared as Harry just did added a whole new level of disbelief.

"What? Bullshit!"

"Nice try, kid, but pick something more believable next time!"

"Could he be telling the truth?"

"No way."

"But it's possible, right?"

"I think he's full of it."

Harry's confident smile didn't slip as the crowd doubted his claims. Ron would bet every sickle he owned that everyone gathered would ask Daniel if he really did have a brother. The whole train would likely know within the hour.

"Liar," the blonde from the front of the line accused with narrowed eyes, her friend seemed stunned into silence as she intently studied Harry's features.

Harry shrugged blithely as he stepped to the side and dramatically gestured towards the door. "By all means, sweetheart, ask the little-brother-who-lived yourself." Like any good friend, Ron mimicked Harry's movements on the other side of the door. Showmanship was important, after all. Fred and George had taught him that quite well.

"Fine, I will!" The blonde sneered. "Come on, Tracey!"

The brunette followed after her friend, but gasped loudly as she studied Harry's face whilst walking past.

"Daphne! I think he was telling the -" the noise from within the compartment was abruptly cut off as Harry closed the door behind the girls.

"Well that was fun, let's grab some food, yeah?" Harry chirped.

Both Ron and Harry ignored the numerous gob smacked gazes and inquiring comments that followed them as the two walked away. They were far too busy happily discussing the foods they hoped were available.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I don't really do these things, just wanted to make mention of three quick things:  
> -Shout out to my older brother. He doesn't have an account on this site (despite the fact that he reads plenty of fanfiction), but the number of hours he and I have spent just talking about the world of Harry Potter is beyond count. The ideas we've discussed and talked over have influenced this story almost as much as the canon books itself. I wouldn't have had even half of my ideas if he wasn't willing to get drunk with me and talk about the world that helped shape our childhood.  
> -Friendly reminder that I really don't have anything about this story planned. I have ideas, sure, but the concept of outlining doesn't exist. Just bear that in mind when you're considering the direction of the plot.  
> -Thanks for reading and enjoying my work.

_"'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster,' right, Nietzsche? Ah, how I would love to engage with a mind as wonderfully twisted as yours. Here is to you, my woefully mundane friend. I must have heeded your words to some extent, for I am not a monster at all – but I suppose I cannot deny that in the end, the abyss did indeed gaze back." -Tom to himself, whilst standing in the center of an alchemic circle. November, 1980._

**Chapter 8:**

"Knock, knock, Al."

"You may come through, Nicolas."

Nicolas Flamel stepped through the floo and into the office of Albus Dumbledore with a spring in his step and a quirk to his lips. For the seemingly youthful and handsome blonde, today was a very, very good day. It was the day that he was finally going to be free of the persistent annoyance that had dogged his life for the past few months. Well, annoyance was not giving _nearly_ enough esteem to the series of extremely adept attempts to steal his beloved Stone. The mysterious thief, whoever they were, had never gotten truly close to succeeding, but they had gotten close enough for him to take personal notice – and that was _not_ an easy task. 600 years of life and he could think of less than five times that an individual had actually come so near in their attempts to plunder what was _his_. The whole situation was disconcerting, to say the least.

"Must you insist on referring to me by that nickname, Nicolas?" Albus asked petulantly.

The number of people in the world that could get away with calling Albus Dumbledore petulant, even within the confines of their own mind was quite small. Luckily for Nicolas, he was one of these people.

"It does the soul some good to have to deal with things they aren't fond of, Al," Nicolas said happily as he took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs Albus had in front of his desk. He casually splayed his feet out over the armrest, reaching over and plucking one of the delectable little candies that his old student had available.

"Ah, how I wish your nicknames could be the worst I had to deal with in life."

Nicolas frowned at his longtime companion. If there was ever a man who took too much upon himself it was Albus bloody Dumbledore. Knowing just how much was on the man's plate almost made Nicolas feel bad about the burden that he had placed upon his friend. Almost. In truth, he had long suspected that Albus actually enjoyed being so involved with the world's problems. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot – all of those horrible, dreadful titles on top of maintaining an active network of informants that kept him up to date on the movements of every known or suspected dark wizard across Europe. There was no reason for him to assume those mantles unless he derived some sort of pleasure from doing so. Or so Nicolas thought, anyway. The immortal knew that his friend wanted to do good in the world, but such pure motives were not mutually exclusive from the satisfaction he likely felt. Just as Nicolas was a researcher at heart – Albus was a meddler. The best kind of meddler, most assuredly, but a meddler all the same.

"I am not sure you have the right to lament your self-inflicted woes, Al," Nicolas said, rolling his eyes.

Albus sighed and removed his glasses, polishing them with an enchanted cloth. "We've had this debate numerous times, old friend."

Nicolas raised his hands in surrender as he mentally smirked at the fulfillment of the French stereotype. "You're right, Al, you're right. I still think you're wrong about the topic itself, of course, but that's not an argument we need to rehash at this time."

"I do appreciate that."

"I normally wouldn't give in so easily, but you are doing me a favor by getting involved this time, so I suppose I can't complain."

Albus chuckled lightly. "Consider it my way of repaying the debt I still owe you – for Paris, all those years ago."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Nicolas grimaced, popping another candy in his mouth. "You know how I loathe being involved in such affairs." His voice was warbled by the delightful lemon sweet.

The half-moon spectacles were returned to their proper place as his old student nodded. "Oh, I'm quite aware. Nevertheless, I believe my assisting you in catching this thief shall be enough for us both to consider the debt settled?" Albus raised an eye-brow questioningly.

"Oh, fine," Nicolas rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes – if you catch this would be larcenist than I promise to stop bringing up that nasty business in Paris."

Albus' eyes twinkled at him amusedly. A more impertinent student there never was, truly. "You know I would never turn you away should you require my assistance, Nicolas."

Were they having a moment? Well, that wouldn't do.

"I know, _Al_ ," Nicolas deliberately stressed the abhorred nickname. "I know."

The two old friends broke out into laughter together. Nicolas had known Albus for quite a long time, even by his own warped standards. In many ways, the two companions could not have been more different from one another. Their views on the world, their desire to get involved in the problems of others – they stood in direct contradiction. Despite their differences though, Nicolas viewed Albus as one of the few genuine friends he had. Albus was one of the few individuals in the entire world that he could truly engage with about magic. One of the only people that he could count on to help him should he truly need it. Nicolas greatly valued the man's friendship.

"Let's return to the reason why I'm here, shall we?" Nicolas asked, standing up. The tip of his finger began to glow brightly, and as he traced it through the air so that it formed symbols and shapes, he spoke in a strange language that did not sound fit for human conversation. When he was finished, there was a small flash of violet light that stayed floating in the air. Without hesitation Nicolas sliced open his hand and quickly stuck it inside the magical illumination. His hand disappeared for only the briefest of moments before the light was gone, and within his bleeding grasp was a pristine, crimson stone.

"Nicolas," Albus spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "is that really the Stone?"

"Of course not, Albus," Nicolas laughed heartily, "but this is a stone."

"I'm afraid I do not understand," Albus said, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "Did you create a second stone as bait?"

"Not a true Stone, no," Nicolas explained. "In my creation of the Philosopher's Stone I had many, _many_ unsuccessful prototypes. As it turned out, not all of my failures were useless pieces of junk."

"Then that," Albus gestured towards the crimson jewel, "is one of your more useful creations, I take it?"

Nicolas smiled at his former pupil happily. "Indeed! Can you determine its potency?"

"Not to any great level of detail, not without studying it more closely – but it is apparent that there is a great deal of power held within that stone."

Nicolas reclaimed his comfortable seat and leaned forward to place the faux stone on the desk. "Oh yes, this little rock is by no means a trifling failure. In fact, despite it not being the true Stone, I would hesitate to call it a failure at all."

"Then why bring it to," Albus trailed off and suddenly narrowed his eyes. "You mean for me to use this as bait rather than what we had previously agreed upon." It wasn't a question.

Nicolas nodded his head. "An artifact of sufficient power is the only way to convince this thief to target you instead of searching for me." He idly began tossing the stone into the air and catching it with one hand. "We laid out the bread-crumbs perfectly, Al, there is no way the thief won't believe you're guarding the stone for me. And now, you'll actually have something worth protecting," Nicolas finished with a smug grin.

"What is this stone even capable of?" Albus asked. "I must confess that at this distance I cannot discern the magic layered within." Albus drew his wand and paused. "May I?" He asked.

Nicolas motioned him to go ahead. "By all means."

Albus quietly muttered to himself as he waved his wand over the stone for a few minutes. Nicolas could have just explained what the fake stone was capable of, but testing one another had long since been a game of theirs. Nicolas had been the master and Albus the student, it was true – but even when he was young and foolish by comparison, Albus Dumbledore could do things with magic that astounded even an immortal's old bones. There was never a dull moment in those years they spent studying dragon's blood and improving their alchemy. Just two brilliant alchemists spending night and day trying to fit the pieces for a puzzle they couldn't be sure was possible to put together. They had made games out of their discoveries. A challenge from one to the other, to see if they could unravel that which they had already figured out on their own. Those were good memories, and the habits from those times still remained.

"Nicolas, this is an incredible creation," Albus praised warmly. "Please, correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe this artifact would allow the user to bypass the need for a circle when performing alchemy!"

"Right in one, old friend," Nicolas said proudly.

Albus gazed at the fake stone with an almost childlike wonder before he suddenly sobered, his face grim. "Answer me honestly, please, I implore you – would I actually wish to know the details behind how this artifact was crafted?"

Nicolas shrugged callously. "Most likely not."

Albus sighed, and while he still looked quite healthy for his age, his eyes reflected a man that was far, far older. "I will use this as bait for our thief, Nicolas; but once I have caught the individual in question, I will destroy this artifact."

Despite the severity of Albus' tone, Nicolas couldn't help but chuckle. Their respective moral principles differed greatly, especially in regards to scientific ethics. The death of his sister had scarred the man for life. Albus was still far more brilliant than almost any other magical alive; but Nicolas couldn't help but feel wistful for how much further he could have pushed if only he had moved beyond his fears and regrets.

"Destroy it if you wish, Al. I personally have no need for it, after all."

At that moment, Fawkes the Phoenix swooped in from one of the grand windows and successfully distracted the two old friends. Phoenixes were incredible creatures in Nicolas' eyes. Their magic remained a mystery to him in almost every way. Studying one at some point was a dear wish for him, but it was unfortunately impossible to keep a phoenix in captivity against its will; and for those phoenixes that bonded with a human, the individual they bonded with never seemed inclined to investigate their magic for themselves. Someday, he planned to unravel their secrets for himself. It would take a long while, but he was unconcerned. After all, if there was one thing that Nicolas Flamel had in abundance, it was time.

"Ah, welcome back, Fawkes," Albus greeted the magical bird warmly. "As you can see, Nicolas decided to stop by."

Fawkes let out a rather plain – comparatively speaking anyway – musical cry, an acknowledgment of Nicolas' presence more than anything else. The immortal had always gotten the impression that the magical bird wasn't his biggest fan. Obviously the phoenix did not hate him, if he did than he likely would have attacked a long time ago – but the creature clearly did not hold him in the highest regard. Honestly, the feeling was mutual. Phoenixes were not the paragons of virtue that the layman had come to associate them with, but they did tend to bond with those that reflected what they as individuals valued. Albus and Fawkes were two peas in a very principled pod.

"Don't bother, Al, your faithful companion has never been fond of me," Nicolas grumbled good naturedly.

"To be fair, I do not believe Fawkes' distaste towards you began until after you tried to steal some of his tail-feathers," Albus said, looking over his glasses in a reprimanding fashion.

_How dare you use that technique against me? I taught you how to do that, you brat!_

Nicolas huffed and stood up from his chair. Better to walk around and play with Albus' numerous toys than sit quaintly and passively endure the judgment of a phoenix.

"So, if you don't mind my asking, where have you hidden away the actual Stone?" Albus queried as he gently helped Fawkes preen his feathers.

Nicolas wasn't certain of what most of the various contraptions did upon first glance, but poking them and seeing what happened was more fun anyway. "For now, a vault that has the Fidelius charm layered over it. I'll be retrieving it shortly though, and then I will be meeting up with Perenelle in Sierra Leone. She already has a vault underneath one of her laboratories prepped."

"You never did trust the Fidelius charm very much," Albus muttered.

"No, and for good reason. Despite that charm's vaunted reputation, I've always felt that it accomplished little beyond lulling one into a false sense of security."

Albus sighed heavily. "I will continue to maintain my stance on this point, Nicolas – your stubbornness against that charm is largely unwarranted. If cast correctly, the Fidelius charm is practically unassailable."

"Practically is not good enough for me, Al. Not if it means I am unable to put up any other defensive measures. Plus, we both know that the Imperius Curse can force a secret keeper to reveal the secret," Nicolas countered as he poked a strange, floating metal device with three, antennae like arms sticking out of it.

The Imperius Curse was easily the most disturbing piece of magic that Nicolas had ever seen. To attack and _control_ someone's very **soul**... All of the Unforgivable Curses were disturbing spells, of course, but only those who had studied souls – and by extension soul magic – could truly understand just how abhorrent it was to deliberately target the soul and attempt to dominate it. Nicolas had never subscribed to the notions of good or evil, not since he was a boy anyway; but the Imperius Curse was the type of magic that even he had a difficult time not seeing as evil. Magic may not have an objective morality inherent to it, but any human that could successfully cast the Imperius Curse was one to watch out for in his opinion.

"While I understand your reticence, I am afraid that this will just have to be another subject that we agree to disagree on," Albus said diplomatically. "Oh, and I meant to ask, why Sierra Leone?"

"Ah, well, it appears the muggles there are in the midst of a civil war – and you know Perenelle, her little experiments always require a fair amount of bodies," Nicolas responded, chuckling at his wife's habits.

Albus grimaced but deigned not to respond. Albus and Perenelle had never seen eye-to-eye on anything. At all. They were never unpleasant to one another in person, but they had both long since given up on speaking with one another outside of civil small-talk at the occasional soiree.

"I imagine you're looking forward to seeing her for an extended period of time," Albus said, choosing to move past the details of her experiments. "If I recall correctly, you two have not seen each other very often over the past few years."

"Well, we haven't met up in person for any reason other than sex in almost three years, but those were fairly regular occurrences," Nicolas corrected, wagging his eyebrows. "Sex is another one of those things that's good for the soul, Al. Even meaningless sex with a stranger can be healthy. I should know, Perenelle and I experimented with that back in the 1700s."

"I have only taken one lover in my lifetime, Nicolas, and you know why." Albus' voice was calm, bordering on detached as memories from almost a century prior were brought to the surface.

Nicolas would burn the world for Perenelle, if she asked it of him. Not that she ever would, of course, his lovely wife had no interest in such wanton destruction. But there was nothing he wouldn't do for the woman he loved more than anyone, _anything_ , else in existence. She was the very reason behind his fervent study into alchemy and eternal youth all those years ago. He couldn't bear to see her grow old – to slowly become a shell of the woman who had possessed such energy and life. For Perenelle, Nicolas would make any sacrifice. Unravel any secret. The immortal had always felt sorry for Albus that he and Grindelwald could not love one another so strongly.

The two friends fell into a silence that while not comfortable, wasn't quite awkward either. It was familiar, if nothing else – a sign that their conversational topic had reached a true impasse. Still walking around Albus' office, Nicolas found his attention pulled away by the sight of a dodecahedron with golden handles on two sides, emitting a dull, undulating gray glow. He had absolutely no clue what it was, but it was utterly enthralling. He wanted one.

"Was there anything else you wished to speak about, Nicolas?" Albus asked politely. "You know that on any other day I would not protest your continued presence, but I do have some last minute preparations to make as an educator. The students will be arriving in only a few scant hours, after all."

Nicolas sighed happily, memories of his past stints teaching at Beauxbatons returning to him. "No worries, Albus – I'll see myself out now," he said, acquiescing to his friend's courteous request for him to leave. "Do keep me up to date on any developments, if you don't mind," he walked over to the fireplace and withdrew a handful of floo powder. "If you discover that the thief has seen through our deception, I would like to be informed immediately."

Albus stood up and shook Nicolas' hand. "Oh, you know I shall, old friend. However, I am confident that will not be the case. I like to believe that between the two of us, we are able to outsmart a thief."

"A thief, yes, but a talented one, Al," Nicolas corrected. "This individual did successfully break through many of my own defenses, and even into Gringotts."

Albus quirked a smile, his eyes twinkling as he motioned Nicolas towards the fireplace. "Quite true, but I must admit that I have often pondered how I would break into the vaults of Gringotts – should the need arise, of course – and I do believe that I could do so, but I would accomplish it with far more finesse than our mysterious thief."

Nicolas laughed heartily as he tossed his floo powder into the lightly smoldering hearth. "We need to grab drinks together once this is all finished, Albus – The Three Broomsticks – farewell, for now."

With a jaunty wave towards his friend, Nicolas walked into the dazzling green flames. The travel itself was both brief and entirely forgettable. He'd been using floo travel for longer than anyone else alive, literally. It was no longer an experience of note to him. A galleon was dropped into the jar kept above the mantle. Most people tended to tip in knuts for use of a floo, but money was of no concern to him.

"Thanks for the tip, hon'," the ever attractive Rosmerta called out, winking at him as she delivered another patron their food.

Nicolas returned the wink and smiled, but didn't respond further. He couldn't stop his eyes from trailing the woman as she walked away though. Madame Rosmerta was famous for always fleecing a nice tip thanks to her ample cleavage and fondness for leaning over her patrons; but as Nicolas was realizing for himself, the way she sashayed her hips was worthy of songs.

Nicolas was _definitely_ going to mention her to Perenelle now. The two of them had experimented many times over the years with ways to keep their sex life interesting – inviting beautiful people to share their bed was just one of their more preferred solutions. On their next trip to England, he rather hoped Rosie would be amenable to his flirtations; with over 600 years of experience in the art of charm and seduction, he was rather confident in his abilities. But, even if he did somehow fail, Perenelle could always give it a go. His lovely wife was far better at seduction than he could ever hope to be. _God, I love that woman._

Nicolas walked out of the inn and into the delightful streets of Hogsmeade. The sprawling town was truly a wondrous place to visit, but he had done so once this decade already, and that was enough for him. A moment later and a small rope was in his hand. Every citizen was supposed to go through the Ministry operated travel-ports if they wished to take a portkey, especially an international one; on top of which the Ministries of the world generally liked to keep track of who was inside their borders. Not that Nicolas cared, he predated most modern governmental institutions by centuries. The Portus charm was difficult to cast and known by only a select few, but the immortal ranked highly among those select few. One of the many benefits to being him was being able to learn so many lovely spells before the Ministries of the world attempted to regulate them. Silly little governmental institutions.

With a contented sigh and an activation word, Nicolas Flamel was whisked away from the British Isles and off towards Russia, where he had temporarily stored the one and only, genuine Philosopher's Stone.

**OoooOoooO**

_"There you are, Nott. I've been looking for you."_

_"Ohhhh, hey – hey there..."_

_"I'm Draco, you twit. Open your eyes and you'd see that."_

_"Drake! Hey – hey, Drake! What're you – I – I mean, what'dya – what'dya want?"_

_"Bloody hell, Nott, how many potions did you drink?"_

_"Mixed 'em last night! Noooo – no – two nights? No! No! Morning! This... morrrrn – this – this morning!"_

_"How many, Nott? A number!"_

_"Threeee? Three! Or – or – or – or was it – or was it four?"_

_"Damn it, you're way too high. It's useless trying to speak with you right now."_

_"I wanted – I wanted t'celebrate! D'ye know where're we – where we're going? Do ya, Drake? D'ye knooow?"_

_"Yes, Nott... I know we're going to Hogwarts -"_

_"HOGWARTS! Drake – Drake, d'ya know – d'ya know what Hog – Warts – Hogwarts – what Hogwarts means? Drake, I'm'o be freeeeeeeee~!"_

_"I know, man. I know..."_

_"Y'don't, not reeeeally – you might think – you think y'know. But y'don't! My brother! He knows – he knew... M'brother's dead, Drake."_

_"Theo, this really isn't a conversation we should have right now."_

_"'Twasn't an accid- accid-"_

_"Accident."_

_"AC-CI-DENT! 'Twasn't that! I told 'em – I told 'em what – told what happened!"_

_"You told me too, Theo. I know."_

_"MURDER! MUR-DERED! I – I – I TOLD THEM – I DID! I TOLD THEM – TOLD EV'RYTHING!"_

_"Damn it, Theo! Stop yelling!"_

_"But – but Mmmmm-sec did – didn't – didn't listen t'me! ME! THE – THE ONLY – THE WITNESS!"_

_"Crabbe, check his trunk! He should have a bunch of potions in one of the compartments, and he usually has them all labeled. Grab a sleeping draught."_

_"D'ye know – d'ye know I tried – I – I tried them – the aurors too – the aurors – I tried 'em. Yax though – Yaxley – Yaxley was the one – 'twas him in – the auror given m'case."_

_"Any luck, Crabbe?"_

_"He's got a lot of potions in here, Boss."_

_"Keep looking. I'm sure he has some in there somewhere. Merlin knows he has enough trouble sleeping without them."_

_"Y'know – y'wanna know some – y'wanna knooooow something, Drake?"_

_"What, Theo?"_

_"Someday I'm – I'm gonnaaaaa – that day – on that day – I'm gonna kill him."_

_"What...?"_

_"Mmmmmmmhmm! I'm'o kill him, Drake – kill him dead!"_

_"Stop talking, Theo."_

_"Her toooo~! If she – if she, y'know – if she does that thing – if sheee... lies – lies for him. Protects – if she does – if she protects him! She does that, then – then I'm'o kill her too."_

_"Theo! Shut the fuck up!"_

_"I – I think – I think it'll be. . . funny – Yeah, funny – it'll be a good thing – a good thing, y'know?"_

_"Found one, Boss!"_

_"About fucking time! Give it here!"_

_"I'll laugh – I'll laugh a – a lot – I'll laugh a lot. Laugh – laugh – laugh-laugh-laugh. Ha – Ha – Ha!"_

_"Shut up and drink, Theo."_

_"Hmmmm? Why – why am – is it – is it good? It's good – it's goooood, right?"_

_"It's very good, now drink."_

_"M-mkay – mkay. That – that was – good – that was... good..."_

_"Finally. He's going to be out for most of the trip now. Crabbe, Goyle – put him on one of the cushions but make sure he's laying on his side. Crabbe, you're going to stay here and keep an eye on him. Close up his trunk for now in case anyone drops by."_

_"No problem, Boss. I'll watch over him."_

_"Thanks. Goyle, you're with me."_

_"Where are we going, Boss?"_

_"We're still going to go see Daniel Potter."_

**OoooOoooO**

"You're kidding me?" Harry gasped at his tall, redheaded friend. He and Ron had stolen two empty seats at the bar – the bar that wasn't really a bar in Harry's mind since it didn't serve alcohol, he'd asked – and were now talking about the best sport in the world while they waited for their meals. Chef's choice was a favorite of Harry's to order, it was almost always guaranteed to be something truly delicious.

"Not you too," Ron groaned, looking towards the sky desperately. "How do you already hate the Cannons?"

"I don't hate the Cannons, I just think they suck." Harry didn't hate any of the other teams. Yet. Well, discounting Puddlemere of course. But the Harpies had a rivalry with them, so not only was his hatred understandable, but it barely even counted.

"They beat out five other teams last year! Ninth isn't the best, but it could be a lot worse!" Ron would clearly defend his team through thick and thin. Harry could respect that he was a genuine fan rather than just being a fair-weather one.

"Mate, they haven't won the League Cup in almost a hundred years," Harry snickered, casually leaning on the bar as he kept an eye on the other students in the car. He was half hoping to run into one of the many Hogwarts students he'd met over the past two months. Especially that girl, Pansy. Damn, he had not been able to get that girl out of his mind.

"They're just going through a rough patch!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "A hundred years is just a rough patch?"

"They're going to do better this year!" Ron swore emphatically. "Their talent scouts have been putting in a lot of work. Plus, Biscus' contract is up in a couple of months! So if they don't resign him they'll have a lot of extra money to try and entice some of the current stars! Just you wait, Harry, the Cannons will prove everyone wrong."

Harry didn't even try to hold back his doubtful chuckle. There was a saying in magical England that he had already become quite familiar with: _'You can only count on three things in this world – Life. Death. And the Cannons not winning the Cup.'_ Harry didn't consider it the most fair saying given that there were plenty of magicals still alive that had seen the Cannons win, but it amused him all the same.

No one had faith in the Cannon's ability to have a good season, no one. With their current coach, their roster, their management staff, or hell, even their facilities it was looked at as being impossible. Ron was technically correct in his rant that it wasn't impossible for them to turn things around for the upcoming season, but it would take a miracle for them to make it happen. Fans of quidditch lived in a world where magic was real, a world where teenagers and morons could bend reality to their will on a whim, a world where their sport of choice involved flying through the air at high speeds on enchanted brooms, and still no one had faith in the Cannons winning the Cup. That simple fact spoke volumes about their current players and staff.

Both of the teenage boys were distracted from their conversation by their food being placed before them. Two piping hot steak pies, complete with a golden-brown, flaky pastry, and a rich, savory filling. Harry looked up to thank the woman that had dropped off their orders, but she had already moved across the room. _Didn't want to talk to you anyway_ , he thought as he dug into his food.

"Ohhhh, blimey..." Ron practically moaned. If Harry hadn't seen him take a bite he'd assume he was having a shag. He couldn't even blame the guy for making noises like that though, their steak pies were just that fucking _good._

"There is a god," Harry murmured before digging in with gusto.

Not a single word was exchanged further as the two teens devoured every single bite of their delicious meal. It had only been a few hours since Harry had last eaten, but food that good could never be allowed to go to waste. That would be a crime against food – against humanity! If Hogwarts had food even half as good as what the train served then Harry was going to love every single meal.

Ron leaned back in his chair, rapture painting his features as his hands rested contentedly on his stomach. "I cannot believe I almost turned that down."

Harry laughed heartily and tossed two sickles on the counter top. "Lesson learned then, always accept my offers to buy food!"

Still slightly stunned by the heavenly food he'd just partaken of, Ron nodded slowly, but happily. "When it comes to food, you're buying. Every time."

"I can agree to that."

"Wicked."

Now that he had thoroughly erased the memory of corned beef from his brain, Harry leapt to his feet and clapped Ron on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go find something interesting to do." Harry had greatly enjoyed the food, but if he couldn't have a smoke right now then he needed something to distract him. Interesting things generally did a good job of taking his mind off of his never ending desire for nicotine. Drugs were funny like that, being addictive and all.

"What else is going to be interesting on a train?" Ron asked.

Now that was an excellent question – one that Harry hadn't actually given much thought to. "I'm not sure. You have any ideas?"

"None at all," Ron helpfully supplied.

"We could try to get on the roof?" Harry offered, rolling a galleon in between his fingers. It helped him focus.

"Likelihood of us falling off?"

"It's a magical train, it's probably been warded so dumb students like us don't fall off, right?" Harry was trying to convince himself more than anything.

Ron shrugged, just as clueless as Harry was, "dunno, never been on a magical train before."

"Want to risk it?" Harry was already sold but it didn't hurt to confer with his newfound partner in crime.

"I'll try anything once," Ron said, grinning at Harry as he quoted his own adage back at him.

Harry groaned loudly. "That was cheesy as hell, man."

"I thought it was brilliant!" Ron proclaimed, clearly just trying to tease his friend.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say it," Harry muttered, rotating in place as he looked for a sign to point him towards the higher floors. "Where the hell do we go to get upstairs?"

Ron just raised an arm towards the very obvious sign indicating stairs, quizzically watching his friend spin for seemingly no reason. It wasn't Harry's proudest moment, so naturally he chose to ignore the fact that it happened at all.

"Hey look, I found the sign!" Harry exclaimed happily.

"You're a special kind of bloke, Harry."

The two eventually found their way to the top floor of the dining car they'd just eaten in. On one of the walls, there was a ladder that led up to a hatch that opened directly to the roof. Harry was a bit surprised that no one so much as questioned why they were going to the roof, but he wasn't going to complain about the lack of obstacles. The last thing he actually wanted to deal with was some eighteen year old arse with an overinflated ego trying to boss them around.

The hatch opened without issue, allowing the two boys to easily climb onto the roof and into the open air. The wind buffeted them to a decent degree, but it wasn't enough to make them lose their footing. The weather was gorgeous, the warm sun casting its rays with only the occasional white cloud dotting the sky. Harry cast his gaze as far as he was able, searching for any signs that the train was about to pass through a tight tunnel, or indications of an imminent giant attack. Fortunately for them, the horizon was devoid of any such threats.

"Um, Harry," Ron cut through his analysis of the direction in which the train was traveling, "does that guy look weird to you?" He inclined his head towards a person that was sitting on a roof a few cars back from them.

Details were nigh impossible to make out given the distance that separated them, but Ron was correct in his assessment that something about this individual was off.

"Yeah, they do," Harry replied slowly. "Let's go say hi, yeah?"

They had come to the roof in search of something interesting after all, and a strange individual fit the bill pretty damn well.

"Why not, right? They're on the Hogwarts Express, how dangerous can they be?"

Harry stopped Ron from walking any further with a single hand on his shoulder. "Let's not tempt the gods of fate going forward, please," he pleaded, his severe tone offset by his smirk.

"Religion isn't really much of a thing in our world, mate," Ron corrected, chuckling at the presumed error of his muggle raised companion.

Harry shook his head in the negative. "Nah mate, the gods of fate aren't related to a religion, they're a curse upon humanity."

Ron hummed along to Harry's explanation as the two slowly walked towards the strange figure, every step deliberate so as to avoid slipping off the speeding train. "They sound bloody dreadful."

"They're the worst," Harry concurred.

Finally getting a good look at the strange individual when they were about twenty or so feet away, Harry was shocked to see a man well beyond the age of a student, lounging in a chair. The man in question appeared to be in his mid-thirties with a heavy five o'clock shadow coloring his jaw and cheeks, dressed in a tattered brown coat and matching flat cap. The man looked _rough_ , and that was a kind description. Seated in a raggedy and worn folding lawn chair, the man was playing what appeared to be a beat up guitar. Despite the wind and the distance between them, Harry had no difficulties hearing the music the man produced. A beautiful yet melancholy tune, one that almost felt out of place coming from this drifter on top of a train.

Ron continued to move towards the man with an inquisitive grin on his face, but Harry refrained from taking one step closer. This strange individual eerily reminded him of someone else. "Hey!" Harry called out, shocking Ron who turned to look at him.

"Is there something I can do for you boys?" The man yelled, greeting them neutrally. His voice was gravelly and coarse, a stark contrast to the music he produced.

"Your name's not Tom, is it?" Harry demanded. He was not going through another round of that bullshit again. Not before he knew a shit-ton about magic anyway.

The strange man chuckled, it was not a pleasant sound. "And if it was?"

Well, that answer was easy. "I'd walk away without saying another word," Harry responded loudly.

Ron studied Harry intently, trying to get a grasp on his friend's bizarre reaction to the man. Harry was thankful the redhead wasn't making humorous comments or teasing him right now; the lessons imparted by his previous strange encounters had stuck with him – for better or for worse he wasn't quite sure.

"The name is Hank Mots, kid," the man, Hank, responded. He hadn't ceased playing his music and nor had he yelled, yet his voice still carried to the two boys perfectly.

Harry was put at ease by Hank's assurance that he did not share a name with the man that still haunted his dreams and nightmares. Ron, still ignorant of just exactly why his fellow teen was so tentative in his approach, calmly walked forward and claimed one of the two free empty chairs. Harry snorted at the obvious 'convenience' of their being a total of three seats, but he still followed his friend's example. Until the man started spinning coins or using Legilimency, Harry was content to talk to Hank the stowaway.

_Since when do strange people doing strange things make me so nervous?_ Harry thought to himself, the moment of honest introspection suddenly making contact with his psyche. _Fuck you, Tom. You creepy, informative arse. Weird people should excite me, not scare me!_ Harry was going to have to make an effort to approach people even if they were reminiscent of Tom. Hell no was that encounter going to dictate how he lived his life. He didn't have to be cavalier or moronic – but frightful? Fuck that.

"So, I'll ask again now that you boys are seated," Hank's unpleasant voice pushed its way through Harry's self-analysis, "is there something I can do for you?" Hanks demeanor was gruff but not unfriendly. Most likely easily misconstrued as blunt or even rude, but Harry could tell that if the man really had no desire to speak with them then he would simply say as much.

"Just looking for something to do that might be fun or entertaining, figured the roof was a good place to start," Ron replied for them, not put off by the man's attitude in the slightest.

"Two lads taking a break from their socializing and flirting, come up here to see the sights and meet the king?" The man reclined further into his chair, his eyes locked on the teens even as he continued to strum away.

Harry gave Hank a once over, from his ragged cap to his muddy boots and raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by the absurd claim. "You're the king?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "'You're the king,'" he parroted back, his tone mocking. "You're goddamn right I am, kid. Oh, yeah, yeah, it's true. You see, I hop aboard this old rattler any time I feels like it."

Harry and Ron exchanged a wry glance, neither of them moved by Hank's flimsy defense.

"What? Don't believe me?" Hank didn't seem affronted at all, more amused than anything. "I understand, I understand. Nobody wants to go through life getting conned or duped at every turn. Hoodwinked!" His voice more intense than it was a second prior. "They don't want to have the wool pulled over their eyes!" He leapt to his feet, his body passing through the guitar as it continued to play on its own. "You don't wanna be taken for a ride, railroaded!"

Hank leaned down and grabbed a handle that Harry knew hadn't been there previously. "You've gotta see something to believe it, am I right?" His voice was barely a whisper, but it was _still_ clearly audible.

"I suppose so?" Ron sounded like he was guessing.

"You suppose, eh?" Hank slid his eyes over to Harry. "And what about you, kid?"

"I guess I'd agree, yeah," Harry concurred. "For the most part anyway."

Hank chuckled as he lifted up the hatch. "Then follow me, boys – oh, but first, give me your names. If you would be so kind."

"Harry."

"Ron."

"Thanks for the names, I promise to return them to you before we're done," Hank cackled as he leapt into the hatch. Though Harry was inclined to believe the man's parting comment was just a quip, he didn't like how his hair stood on edge at the thought of such magic. Impossible or not, he wasn't sure, but it unnerved him all the same.

"Is this what its normally like with you?" Ron marveled at him with wide eyes. "Blimey, mate – we met an hour ago and already we're doing stuff like this?"

Harry was quite pleased that he gave off the impression that his life was this adventurous all the time. "I couldn't have planned this if I tried," he divulged, happily. "Hogwarts is going to be fun, man!"

"So we're following after this guy?" Ron asked, incredulity clear in his tone. "The random bloke we met on the roof of a train meant for students only?"

"I mean, why not, right?" Harry grinned back at his friend. "He doesn't seem like a crazy ax murderer to me."

"Not an ax no, but..." Ron pondered to himself for a few seconds before snapping his fingers. "I bet this guy has a cursed hammer that he carries around."

"I can see that," Harry agreed, trying to create a mental picture of Hank with a cursed hammer. "Think it's called the 'Mallet of Misfortune', and that's why Hank's a drifter?"

"It would make sense."

"I bet we could take a guy with a hammer if he attacked us, don't you?" Harry posed, confident that if he dodged Hank's initial swing, then he could tackle him while Ron tried to remove the weapon from his grasp. In his mind, it was now all but confirmed that Hank did indeed have a hammer.

"Hmmm," Ron hummed in thought. "Maybe, but if he lands one good hit we're screwed."

"Then we just don't get hit, simple as that!"

Ron chuckled but still seemed unconvinced by his plan. "You ever been in a fight?"

"Two of them, yeah. First fight I was in I punched a guy, but then he punched me WAY harder. It knocked me right to the ground. I was lucky that he walked away after that."

"So, you got your ass kicked, right," Ron summed up.

Harry cringed slightly. "It wasn't even close."

"And the other time?"

Harry's eyes hardened and he clenched his fists. "There was this arsehole that wouldn't stop being a creep to my foster sister, Sarah – worse was the fact that she was only eleven at the time."

"You better have hurt this guy," Ron said, his eyes narrowing.

"Kicked his knee in, broke three of my fingers when I punched him in the face, then stomped on his ribs before running away with Sarah," Harry effused, vivaciously. The memories of what he'd done to that cunt always brought a smile to his face. He knew that the older teen would have likely kicked his teeth in had it been a fair fight – but there weren't many people that could fight back with a wrecked knee. Harry had made sure that his opening strike fucking _hurt._

"Good," Ron nodded before sighing dramatically. "I'm fairly certain I'm going to snap when blokes start making a move on my sister..."

"You have a sister, hmmm?" Harry waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"I have five older brother's Harry. Make a move on my sister and I promise that we'll win."

Harry laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "Message received. Seriously though, any guy that makes a move on her gets your wrath? I understand beating up ass-holes, but what if he's a nice bloke?"

Ron groaned and rubbed the back of his head. "Haven't given that one a lot of thought, mate. I'm sure Ginny will be able to take care of herself just fine, but..."

"Oi!" Hank poked his head back out of the hatch. "Get your heads out of the clouds, you lazy sods! We gotta get a move on here!"

"Get your crotchety ass out of the way, we're coming," Harry barked amusedly, shrugging at Ron before following after the strange man. As he stepped inside, Hank grumbled something about kids and respect but pulled back before Harry could catch exactly what he said.

The journey through the hatch was unquestionably the most disorienting experience of Harry's entire life. Apparition and floo travel had both been uncomfortable, but neither of them had been quite so bewildering, they hadn't been so _odd_. Harry had been on the roof when he stepped _down_ and into the hatch, so having to step _up_ and out to pass through made his sense of equilibrium go absolutely batty. There were no words to describe the feeling of descending into a state of ascension. It didn't make sense – it simply felt wrong.

"Alright, that was weird," Ron succinctly described, having followed after Harry.

The three of them and the floating guitar were now standing in a slim, fairly dark hallway, the dim light was source-less, but still present. There were large, floor-to-ceiling windows dotting the walls, and a single door at either end of the corridor. Harry looked through the window to his left and saw a group of older students lounging inside a compartment. One guy was asleep, his head resting on a girl's lap as she read a book. The other two guys were playing some kind of card game while the final girl chatted amiably at all of them. None of the teens seemed to notice Harry as he stood there, despite him being less than two feet away from some of them. Harry couldn't hear what the talking girl was saying at first, but the moment he actually tried to listen, her words were suddenly clear as day.

"- forward to seeing Professor Snape still. I know the man is a genius when it comes to potions but -"

"Everyone hates him, Taylor," the guy Harry had presumed to be asleep chimed in.

"Everyone but the Slytherins," said the the girl that was still reading her book.

One of the boys playing a game of what Harry now saw was simply War, looked up after his jack of hearts was brutally stabbed by his opponent's king of spades before being dragged away. Harry missed what was said due to being distracted by how awesome the magical deck of cards was. Even the non-face cards had a soldiers befitting the card's value and suit. The pictures were intricately designed, and the combat between cards seemingly not scripted at all – the four of hearts started cheering when the three of clubs slipped off the seat and splattered onto the floor, his screams cut short by the violent landing. Harry was definitely finding a deck like this for himself.

"Hank, where the hell are we?" Ron loudly questioned their mysterious guide, pulling Harry from his rapt focus on the game of War.

The moment his attention shifted away from the compartment he could no longer hear inside of it. Turning back towards his friend, he noticed Ron standing next to a separate compartment entirely.

"Why can't they see us?" Harry asked, continuing down the same line of questioning.

"And why can I hear them when I focus?" Ron had apparently had the exact same experience as himself.

"Never mind that fuckery with the hatch, what was up with that?" Harry finished, still more than a little perturbed by their entrance into... wherever they were.

Hank held his arms up triumphantly, almost as if he were standing before a large crowd and his prized creation was behind him. "Welcome to the Hogwarts Express, boys!"

Harry and Ron shared a confused glance as Hank took a bow before them.

"Yeah we'd gathered that we're still on the train," Harry declared.

"This guy's barmy," Ron whispered, chortling at the the self proclaimed king as he took a second bow.

"Seriously though," Harry called out to the bowing drifter, "where are we right now?" The strange locale they'd found themselves in was extremely interesting, but he still wanted to know what was going on. Magic was the obvious answer, but that wasn't nearly enough. The colors of this thin corridor didn't match any other part of the train, and some of the windows looked into compartments while others into the actual hallways that every other student was using. They were on the train, but something was different.

"Any guesses from you two non-believers?" Hank taunted, plopping down in the lawn chair that materialized underneath him. "What's your persuasion on all of this? If you don't mind me asking."

Harry rolled his eyes at the patronizing attitude while Ron muttered at the man quietly, "just tell us, you wanker."

"I heard that, you know," Hank said, chuckling at their surprised features. "Oh yeah, the king hears everything in his castle. If he didn't it wouldn't really be his castle, now would it?"

"He's not going to tell us, is he?"

"Doesn't look like it," Harry replied.

Hank rose to his feet and beckoned the two teens towards him, gesturing inside the window he was leaning next to. "I'm done messing with you boys. Yeah, I'm done. We're inside the walls, we three. A place where space has ceased to have meaning."

Harry and Ron walked forward and saw the inside of Daniel's compartment, viewing it as if they were standing opposite the compartment's actual door – Hank wasn't kidding about the whole space losing meaning thing. Daniel and Neville were both on their feet, confronting a neatly dressed blonde boy and his very large, very stout friend. _Damn, they look pissed off._

"Holy shit, their wands are drawn!" Harry exclaimed, smiling at the display. _Kick his ass, little brother!_

"They're about to fight!" Ron yelled eagerly.

"My money is on Blondie and Gorilla," Harry challenged. He'd pull for his twin of course, but he'd place his bets on who he thought was going to win. There was almost no way that Daniel was going to win.

"What? But Neville and your brother both have their wands out already!" Ron countered, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Hank shook his head and pointed at Gorilla. "No no, lookie here at this one, see him, his stance says he's ready to fight. No wand, yeah, but at this distance he could easily get a few licks in before the other two know what hit them."

"There's that," Harry agreed, "but there's also the fact that I doubt any of them know any combative spells."

"Or if they do, they're weak as hell," Hank nodded along with Harry's logic. "Never go into something ill prepared, boys." The way the man spoke when he offered his advice sent a small chill down Harry's spine.

"Plus, they don't have the ability to take cover around the corner of the door like Blondie does," Ron observed, his hand held in his chin. "If Blondie knows any dueling spells, he could duck back and then hit them without exposing himself to further danger. You guys are right, Daniel and Nev don't have much chance."

Blondie and Gorilla then exited the compartment without a fight actually breaking out. Harry didn't necessarily want to see his little brother get pummeled, but it probably would have been entertaining all the same. He rotated to look into the window directly behind him, and watched as the two boys walked away. _Damn, doesn't look like they're going to pick a fight with anyone else. Shame._

"What do you guys think set them off at each other?" Ron wondered aloud.

"You could always listen in and find out," Hank said, gesturing back towards the window.

Harry waved off the suggestion. "Nah, I'm good. I'll just ask Daniel about it later." He had no qualms about spying on others but it felt pointless to spy on his brother. There was a chance that Harry would get some dirt on him, but that slim percentage was of little interest.

"Wait!" Ron exclaimed, pointing at Hank bemusedly. "You're not a bloody voyeur, are you?"

Of all the things Hank might have been expecting at that moment, Ron's question was obviously not it. The ragged man stood there, mouth agape, and with the most gobsmacked expression of all time parked on his face. "What kind of manky bastard do you take me for?" He bellowed angrily.

_Ron, that's absolutely brilliant._ Harry cheered in his head. It was pretty obvious that Hank wasn't voyeuristic at all, or at least no more so than your average individual. His ability to navigate the train in seemingly impossible ways would make it easy for him if he were, but the man just didn't seem like the type to get off to students having a shag. That didn't mean the two teens couldn't mess with him though. It was so easy to do so that they pretty much had to.

"I don't know, Hank, it kind of fits..." Harry jeered, casting a fake look of disgust around the corridor. "Oh god, what kind of things have you done in here?"

The two teens tried to stifle their laughter as Hank scowled at them. It was quite a low blow, accusing someone of being a deviant. Even in jest, that was considered pretty damn rude. Ron held back his mirth admirably; Harry on the other hand gave up rather quickly, and then guffawed for all that he was worth.

"You boys finished now?" Hank asked, his gravelly voice one step short of a guttural growl.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Hank," Ron teased playfully. "It was a funny joke, you've got to admit that." The redheaded teen motioned to a still chuckling Harry as an example.

Hank fell back into his chair and clapped slowly once. Twice. A third time, "oh yeah, yeah yeah, you're a right couple of comedians."

"We're done, we're done," Harry conceded, though he was still smirking.

Hank returned the smile, though his carried a distinct edge to it. "Come now, boys – let's continue to believe what we see, shall we?"

"You think he's upset?" Ron whispered to Harry.

_Oh, he's definitely upset._

"Nah, I'm sure he's fine."

The look Ron gave him said that he didn't believe his deceit even a for a single second. _Damn, I really need to work on my lying skills. Apparently I suck now._

"If he goes to murder us with his cursed hammer, I'm reminding him that you laughed more," Ron said bluntly.

A small part of Harry appreciated the honesty, the rest of him was just confused by why that was something that needed to be mentioned, especially when it was obviously irrelevant. "You know you were the one that made the joke, right? You started it, so you should be the one that gets murdered."

"That's not fair at all!"

"Sure it is."

"It was your idea to follow after Hank to begin with!"

"Again, you made the joke that pissed him off."

"Boys, boys," Hank interjected, "should we go down that route together, I'll just kill you both. Promise."

Hank's words didn't ease their fears in the slightest. In fact, if anything, it did nothing but accomplish the opposite.

"Was that supposed to help? Like at all?" Harry posed.

"Don't think so, no," Ron answered blankly.

Hank walked towards the end of the corridor, and opened the door into the passageway beyond. He glanced behind him for the briefest moment, and whispered – despite the distance his voice still carried to their ears as if he were right next to them, "the primrose path awaits us, boys." And then he just kept walking, not bothering to see if he was being followed.

The trio neither stopped nor slowed as they passed window after window, each glass panel revealing various compartments, hallways, kitchens, and dining rooms. The entire train was theirs to view, and still they walked. The corridor's design never changed or shifted; there was nothing significant about passing through the doors at all. Hell, even the hatch remained on the ground behind them. On and on they walked, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't tell how far.

Had they actually walked anywhere? Had they made any progress at all?

Still they walked.

What direction were they moving in? There was only forwards and and backwards, wasn't there?

Still they walked.

Were they going any which way? Anywhere? Had they stopped?

Still they walked.

If they stood still would anything change? Time was passing, of that he was certain. He could hear the guitar still making music behind them, and even brief glances through the windows showed that the students weren't frozen in place. But were they moving? Were they actually traversing through space at all?

Still they walked.

_This is so bloody weird._

No one spoke, funnily enough, but every time Harry glanced at his friend it was like they didn't need to talk out loud. Body language, facial expressions, an understanding of intent that went beyond the physical. The two friends had barely stopped speaking since they met earlier that day, but in this brief time in the place beyond space, they'd progressed past the exchange of words.

One minute turned to five, and then ten followed after. They continued to walk. Twenty eventually came and still the two teens followed their guide. When thirty had passed the two friends stopped by unspoken, mutual agreement.

"Where are we going?" Ron asked their guide. His words sounded... off. Almost as if the sound waves vibrating through the air weren't functioning properly. Unexplainable. Bizarre. Harry had never heard anything akin to it before. "Actually," Ron continued, "have we gone anywhere at all?"

_Nice correction, Ron._ Harry hadn't spoken yet; he wasn't sure he wanted to. What would his own voice sound like to his ears? _Why the hell does the music still sound normal?_

Hank didn't turn around to the face them, he merely inclined his head slightly and spoke three little words, "so many questions." Just like Ron, his voice was distorted and odd, utterly beyond explanation.

Harry blinked, and Hank was suddenly at the end of the hallway, his hand reaching for another door. The two teens raced forward – or was it backwards now? Which direction had they not been standing still in? No, they'd been moving in place. That was it. They didn't have to move, they just needed to not be where they were. They stopped right in front of Hank as he opened the door, and it was at that exact moment that Harry realized this door was far, far different than those that had come come before it.

The others had been simple doors that slid open and closed, their color mattered little in this corridor inside the walls, but as doors, they had been exactly what one would expect to find on a train. This door though, no, not a door, but an archway. An archway that had simply been blocked, this _final_ archway was different. It was twisted and curved in a manner that almost hurt to look at; Harry couldn't tell where it connected to itself, where it began or ended, only that it was compiled of separate pieces despite still being a cohesive whole. The more he tried to focus on its shape the more his eyes slipped away.

_'You do not yet know what lies beyond the door.'_

Was that Hank's voice? Was that his own? Why had it sounded like Tom?

What lay on the other side of the twisted archway was an inky, all consuming darkness. This darkness was not simply a mist or a fog, nor was it a solid mass either; but to describe it as a void would be inaccurate – the blackness was still something. There was something _there._ A formless mass of black that had a texture the mind could not quite define. Existing, yet not. Observable, yet not. Hank invited them to step into the darkness – for there truly was no other way to describe it – with a formal bow and a smirk that spoke of unshared knowledge. "After you, boys."

The atmosphere had shifted when Hank revealed the way forward. Earlier they'd been amused, jovial in their exploration with Hank as their guide. That casual and easygoing mood had long since passed, it had been replaced by confusion and disorientation. What else could their human minds feel as they traversed through the place where space had no meaning? But that confusion too, had faded. What was left now was only a sense of wonder. The type of wonder that could only be felt when pondering that which would never be understood. It was only then that Harry glanced behind him and realized the hatch leading to the roof was gone. The windows were gone. The source-less light of the corridor faded further and further until there was nothing but the dull glow of the twisted archway. _Fuck._

"Can't say I'm fond of the turn this took, mate," his friend murmured from beside him, his voice still distorted and warped.

Harry appreciated that the redhead didn't look scared, rather he just seemed prepared. Ready. The two of them had both reached the same conclusion – there wasn't anything to fight, not here. They simply had to walk forward.

"Nothing else for it then, is there," Harry spoke. Oh god, why had he spoken? Why did he have to hear his own voice? He would not do so again.

The tune being played on the man's guitar had never faded away, but the moment Hank revealed the depths of the twisted archway it became more. What was once background noise became a theme. That which was forgettable would now never be forgotten; a melody that he would carry with him forever more. As he stood in front of the archway that led to the unfamiliar, he listened – truly listened – for the first time. The beautiful tune composed of musical notes that were interwoven with melancholy – notes that belied the ominous truth hiding deep within. For underneath was an eerie mystery, one fraught with the uncanny and strange. The music and the archway worked in concert – one complimenting the other in a bizarre dance that ensnared the mind and beckoned the spectator towards the unknown.

Harry and Ron walked past the grinning king and into the darkness of the twisted archway – neither of them questioning the title the man had bestowed, nor the crooked crown that rested upon his head.

**OoooOoooO**

_"What's wrong with him?"_

_"Oh, finally decided to show up, did you? Spare me your faux concern."_

_"He's my friend, I do care."_

_"Save it, Zabini. You're just like your dear old mum. Nothing is more important to you than yourself. We both know this, so cut the act."_

_"I'm not my mother."_

_"That so? Then you might want to learn a charm to straighten out your clothes if you're going to lie about their recent place on the floor."_

_"I'm not certain of what you're implying, but I don't appreciate your tone."_

_"Ha! So you're going to deny that you just got back from being waist deep in Terence Higgs' arse?"_

_"What does that have to do with anything? Why do you care about who I fancy a shag with?"_

_"I couldn't care less about where you stick your dick, Zabini."_

_"Then what's the issue, Malfoy?"_

_"The issue is that Nott told me last week that we would meet on the train, but that he was meeting you on the platform."_

_"So what?"_

_"So what? Do you know what kind of state we found him in?"_

_"High as a kite, I'm guessing."_

_"Fuck you."_

_"What? You know as well as I do why he drinks those damn things. Why he needs them."_

_"He drank four, Zabini. Not one or two like normal, but four."_

_". . ."_

_"No defense? No excuses about why your dick mattered more than your 'friend's' safety?"_

_"I saw him on the platform and he seemed fine..."_

_"Oh, well that makes everything okay then."_

_"I'm not his baby-sitter, Malfoy."_

_"Good to know that watching over a supposed friend is a chore to you."_

_"How was I supposed to know that he'd down four potions?"_

_"We agreed to help Lillian keep an eye on him. Or had you forgotten in between all that time you spend trying to fuck everyone that catches your eye?"_

_"Like you've ever actually helped look after him! Crabbe and Goyle are the ones that watch him, not you!"_

_"And they do so under my direction. Had I known you were going to be giving Higgs a hand-job on the train I would have sent one of them in your stead. I thought you had things covered. My mistake for thinking you actually cared about your only friend."_

_"Stop pretending that you actually give a damn about Theo! We all know that you just enjoy feeling superior thanks to your family! Theo isn't your friend, neither are Crabbe and Goyle – they're just tools to you!"_

_"You're just projecting, Zabini, and I'm sick of listening to it. Get out."_

_"Vaffanculo a chi t'è morto, Malfoy!"_

_"Get out, now. Or I'll have Goyle force you out. He's very good at what he does."_

_"You're just proving my point! You're nothing without your family name."_

_"Hold on, Goyle – I'm curious about why Zabini thinks he's better than me? Better than any of us for that matter?"_

_"I am."_

_"That so? Riddle me this, Zabini: how are you, the bastard son of a cheap whore pretending to be something she's not, better than the heirs of pure-blood lines over a thousand years old?"_

_"How do you –"_

_"Know you're a bastard? Know your family's secrets? Oh, I know far more than just that. Information is fairly easy to come by if you have the gold. Your mother may be beautiful, and she may be able to swindle rich, old fools, but she has no clue how to erase her past."_

_"You're bluffing!"_

_"We both know I'm not. My father and I decided to go digging you see, and what we found... well, I imagine that both the Ministry and the Daily Prophet would greatly enjoy our discoveries."_

_". . ."_

_"What's the matter, Zabini? No clever retort?"_

_"What do you want?"_

_"Where's your misplaced superiority now, Zabini?"_

_"Damn it, Malfoy! Tell me what you want?! What will it take to keep you quiet?!"_

_"For now, just your obedience. I had no intention of revealing anything today, but the way things have gone... Well, I have no complaints. But that also means I have no explicit instructions for you right now."_

_"And my mother?"_

_"My father is handling your mother in his own way. You know your mother though, so use your imagination."_

_"You're a right, foul cunt, Malfoy. You know that?"_

_"Your opinion is of little worth to me, Zabini. Your place is beneath my boot, just remember that. Oh, and get out."_

**OoooOoooO**

Hermione Granger looked down at the two unconscious boys entangled in a mess of limbs with a hint of exasperation. She knew that her vexation was directed more at herself than either of the two passed out boys. Yes, they were passed out in the middle of the floor and thus the source of her problem, but they hadn't asked for her help. They hadn't asked and yet, no matter how much she honestly didn't want to, Hermione wasn't the type of person that could walk away without checking on them. Never mind that she'd purchased her food and come up to this comparatively quiet top floor in an effort to escape distraction while she ate and read her book; the simple fact that she'd discovered the passed out boys in such a state meant that she was going to try and help them. That was just who she was.

She tried to gently shake the two boys awake, but that accomplished literally nothing. Shaking them a tad harder and telling them to "wake up" still yielded no results, unfortunately. Huffing in frustration, Hermione spent the next few minutes trying to untangle the two boys from each other – a difficult task as both of them were a fair bit taller and heavier than she was. If they weren't going to wake up at this moment, then she was going to make sure they were at least fairly comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one could be while laying on the floor.

_Honestly, what were they even doing to wind up like this?_ Hermione mused. For their sakes she hoped they would wake up shortly. They would be arriving at Hogwarts in two hours, nineteen minutes, and thirty three seconds, if her math was correct – which it always was. If they weren't up in the next hour then she would go find a Prefect to assist them. If she knew any magic to wake them up then she would do so, of course, but nothing of the sort had been covered in her books just yet. All of her attempts to cast spells thus had far had gone splendidly. If a spell of the sort had been mentioned in her books then she was confident that she would be able cast it successfully, but that was not the case. _Oh! If I have to get a Prefect, perhaps they wouldn't mind teaching me the spell they use?_

Hermione had been on cloud nine ever since Professor McGonagall arrived at her door with her invitation letter to Hogwarts. Magic was just so amazing! Different and challenging, far more so than anything else she'd studied in school thus far. She didn't have an overinflated ego when it came to her intellectual prowess. She knew she was above average intelligence, and she knew that she was highly logical. With those two aspects of her personality, combined with her diligent study habits and mnemonic techniques, she excelled as a fantastic student. Top of her class almost across the board. Magic on the other hand, wasn't quite as simple to learn.

She was, of course, still confident in her ability to be a top student; she wouldn't be able to live with herself otherwise – but she still expected to have to push herself in order to stay on top of all the new material. Unlike those who had been raised in the magical world, she had no prior foundation on which to build her knowledge. Every single piece of material was brand new to her. Not that what she'd spent the past decade studying in school was useless, of course, but it didn't exactly have the same level of application in regards to her magical education.

While waiting for the two boys to awaken, Hermione busied herself by arranging her book of choice, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ , in such a way that she could easily eat and read at the same time. Despite the title suggesting a broader field of magic, the book was entirely devoted towards charms – a classification of spells that caused an effect or behavior. Hermione thought the breadth of charms was ever so wide, with the majority of the magic she'd seen thus far likely falling under that designation. She hoped the charms professor was as impressive of an individual as Professor McGonagall. The Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor had left quite the impression on the young teen.

Hermione had been very pleased to learn that cultural sexism just wasn't a thing in the magical world. There were individuals that looked down on the opposite sex, of course. But as a society, there was equal treatment and opportunity regardless of sex. Professor McGonagall was a stately and dignified woman that had risen to the second highest level of authority at Hogwarts – the premier magical school in Europe according to the books she had read – and she was still a woman in her prime! The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was also a woman in her prime, and she wasn't the only currently sitting Department Head that was a woman! The previous Minister for Magic had been a woman! Two of the founders of Hogwarts were woman, and all four Houses were viewed with equal levels of respect! It was a wondrous dream come true.

The only genuine concern Hermione had about the magical world was in relation to the discrimination she might be subject to as a result of her blood status. Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and pure-bloods – it all sounded like a load of rubbish according to her, an opinion backed up by everything she'd researched. Professor McGonagall had assured her when she first made mention of the subject that it was nothing more than segregationist nonsense; but Hermione had decided that some additional reading and a differing perspective on the subject couldn't hurt. Professor McGonagall had been correct, of course, an individual either had magic, or they did not. There was no middle ground or gray area from which you could interpret alternate meanings.

Hermione couldn't deny that there was a certain advantage to having a magical pedigree that could be traced back thousands of years. It was no secret that many of the old bloodlines had successfully cultivated treasure troves of books and knowledge that they then sealed away, only to be seen by members of that bloodline. She considered it to be a travesty that such vast quantities of knowledge had been secreted away from the rest of the world, but she couldn't begrudge these old Houses for taking pride in what they had access to. What Hermione did take issue with was notion that the many books and tomes these old, 'pure-blood' families had stored away made them superior to everyone else. That was where the moronic bigotry began. All bigotry was moronic, of course, but her own personal relationship to this particular brand of intolerance had made her a tad passionate.

The book, _The Majesty of Dynasties_ by Asim Shafiq, had delved into the subject of pure-blood families quite thoroughly. While initially skeptical of the contents based on the title, Hermione had to give full credit where it was due, it had proven to be quite the fascinating and insightful read. She would have to thank the helpful witch at Flourish and Botts that had directed her towards it. The book focused on Ancient and Noble Houses in Britain, specifically the history of Britain and how it was shaped by those magical and venerable dynasties that endured even to the modern day. The author did not hold back on his opinions, he praised some aspects of the Ancient and Noble Houses whilst harshly criticizing others.

Shafiq rightfully applauded the manner in which these families had gathered together to form ruling councils many years prior, especially since said councils actually served as the foundation for the Wizengamot – an impressive judicial body that still played a central role in magical Britain. While the concept of Noble Houses wasn't ratified until the creation of the Wizengamot in 1106, the Wizards' Council, and many of the families that helped found it, had helped govern magical Britain for over 500 years prior. Hermione wasn't entirely certain how magical Britain compared to other nations throughout the world; but according to Shafiq, the only time of true instability had been during the Norman conquest. After the conquest was complete, the surviving families that had formed the Wizards' Council disbanded, and then reunited to form the Wizengamot alongside the Houses that had accompanied William the Conqueror over from the mainland. Almost 1500 years of relative peace and stability within the magical community was an almost unrivaled feat, and it was almost entirely thanks to the efforts of the Ancient and Noble Houses, many of which were pure-blood. That wasn't even counting the role these Houses had played in the formation of the British Empire, which was apparently a much larger and more complicated subject that Shafiq only referenced briefly. Hermione very much intended to find a book on that subject alone at a later date.

The Ancient and Noble Houses had, literally for centuries, maintained a culture of pushing their children towards greatness. Whether it be business, politics, education, research, military, regardless of the subject, one only needed to read through textbooks to find the surnames of these Houses repeated time and time again. Shafiq and Hermione both agreed that the level of continued excellence achieved by the sons and daughters of these Houses was worthy of respect.

Of course, there was also the other side of these Ancient and Noble Houses – a history of espousing vile and bigoted rhetoric that was targeted towards those that weren't born into a magical family. Hermione absolutely loved reading Shafiq's arguments against pure-blood supremacy, he systematically ripped apart the moronic and patently false claims that were upheld as reasons for muggle-born inferiority, and he did it in such a brilliant fashion. She hadn't yet faced any targeted discrimination herself, but it was _immensely_ satisfying to read a logical and well-structured take-down of such narrow-minded ways of thinking.

The best part of the book had easily been when Shafiq revealed that he himself was from an Ancient and Noble House, a pure-blood line that dated all the way back to Imperial Rome. His ancestors had migrated to the Roman Empire from an unknown region of the Middle East, as was quite common during that period, and they had settled as wealthy researchers within the capital city itself. The man was clearly proud of his heritage, and Hermione wouldn't dream of begrudging him that, but he didn't allow his pride to falsely inflate his ego. He didn't turn towards denigrating minority groups as a method of seeking self-assurance and power. Despite being pure-blood, he wasn't a horrible excuse for a human being.

Hermione didn't know what degree of bigotry she would face at Hogwarts, but if anyone tried to harass her over her heritage then she could not wait to quote Asim Shafiq and put them and their asinine views back in their place! She had already intended to strive towards being one of the best in her year – and she was confident that she could do so after her early success with casting spells – so if anyone had tried to bully her for being a muggle-born, she could easily shut them down by showing her competence with magic. But even then, it certainly didn't hurt to have a nice book to reference, especially when said book was backed up by historical facts and empirical data.

Almost an hour had passed by the time the two boys began to stir. Hermione had spent her time well, in her opinion. She'd finished her food and completed her review of chapters three through six of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1._ All things considered, it had been a fairly productive hour. Plus, with the two boys returning to consciousness, she would be free of her responsibility to watch over them. _Admittedly a self assigned responsibility, but that's neither here nor there._

A number of other students had taken notice of the two unconscious teens throughout the time Hermione had watched over them, but they'd all quickly moved on after lightly laughing. At most someone would mutter "they're probably fine", but then they too would move on. The lack of care exhibited by the other students did help Hermione feel a bit better in her decision to watch over the passed out boys. She wasn't perfect, obviously, but she felt proud that she took time out of her day to help others.

"GAAH!"

The two boys, who had only just begun to stir – now that Hermione thought about it, they had been awfully still before – lurched to their feet in a panic.

"What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?" The black-haired one exclaimed, throwing his back against the wall and placing his hands on his head. Apparently, alongside having quite the foul mouth, he'd had an awful dream as well.

"Bloody hell! What was _that_?" The redhead yelled, following his friends actions and placing his back against a hard surface. He seemed quite scared as well, which was honestly quite peculiar, and that was putting it lightly.

"Excuse me, could you both please calm down? Yelling and running around really isn't conducive for good conversation – and I would very much like to know why you two were both passed out on the floor?" Hermione tried to get the two boys' attention, but neither of them seemed very keen on listening to her at that moment.

"Seriously, Harry! What was that?!" The redhead yelled once more. She learned the black-haired boy was named Harry, that was at least some measure of progress.

"I don't know, man! Fuck!"

"Will you both calm down, and share with me what's going on?" Hermione said, slightly raising her voice to try and get their attention.

"We were fine, joking around and having a good time! What did he do to us?" The redhead yelled, now pacing and hugging his chest as he walked back and forth, demanding answers from his friend.

Harry took multiple, very deep, long breaths as he sunk to the floor. His skin was pale and... was he shaking?

"The last thing I remember before things went to hell was that we started walking after Hank! If he did something else to cause that change then I don't fucking remember it!" Harry then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette that he immediately stuck into his mouth. In the blink of an eye his wand was in his hand, he then used a spell she wasn't familiar with to light the end of his toxic habit.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in confusion, she was now both annoyed and perturbed for a number of different reasons. First of all, she wasn't pleased that Harry was smoking indoors – there may not be a sign expressly forbidding such an action, but it was still inconsiderate and rude. Secondly, both of the boys seemed _genuinely_ freaked out about something despite being peacefully asleep just a minute prior. She was becoming both very curious and very concerned about their behavior. Thirdly, whoever 'Hank' was, he was apparently the one that had done something to them. So where was he now? Oh, and she was ever so interested in learning the little candle-flame spell that Harry had used. That hadn't been mentioned in any of her spellbooks, and it could prove quite useful for lighting scented candles.

The redhead, who's name she still hadn't caught, sat down on the floor next to Harry. He appeared to have calmed down to some degree as he breathed deeply. "Blimey – that was – I don't know what that was, mate."

Harry slumped down on the floor as well. Smoking seemed to be helping him calm down quite rapidly. "I know man. I mean, I've already been through some shit since learning about magic – but that was just _weird_. I mean, that was really fucking _weird_."

"Language!" Hermione chided loudly. The two boys had slowed down enough for her to seize her moment and intervene.

Harry and his friend suddenly looked up at her, just now taking notice of her presence at all. Both of them still appeared rather flustered, but now they also showed a fair bit of incredulity.

"Did you just try to unironically 'language' me?" Harry asked, blowing his smoke to the side and away from both her and his friend. At least he wasn't a complete boor. Smoking indoors was still impolite though.

"Also, who the bloody hell are you?" The redhead added.

Hermione wasn't the biggest fan of sitting on the floor, especially not since she'd already changed into her Hogwarts uniform, but standing in front of the two boys whilst they sat on the ground was just awkward. She lowered herself to the floor and took a moment to adjust her skirt before responding, "I'm Hermione Granger – and yes, I believe your name is Harry, I did censure you for your ever so foul language, and might I add that smoking indoors is exceedingly rude – but that's not important right now. Since I currently have both of your attention, I have to ask – what were you two doing earlier that ended with you being passed out on the floor? And what exactly did this 'Hank' do to you that caused you both to be scared out of your minds upon waking up?"

The two boys continued to stare at her, somehow even more incredulous than before she'd sat down.

"Blimey, are you for real?" The redhead said, amazed at her admittedly long-winded series of questions and remarks.

"You talk _really_ fast," Harry added, also astonished by her rapid fire way of talking.

Hermione huffed at them for still not giving her the response she was looking for. "Yes, I know I talk quickly – it's a habit I'm working on breaking. Never mind that, answer my questions, please."

She knew that she could be a tad nosey on occasion, but with this circumstance she thought her curiosity was more than justified. Not only had she watched over them to ensure they were okay, but their strange behavior upon waking merited further investigation.

The two boys turned to look each other and began muttering quietly. Hermione wasn't quite sure what the point of lowering their voices was though since she could still hear them without issue.

"Should we tell her?" The redhead asked.

"Do we have any reason to keep it a secret?"

"I suppose not."

"Do we actually want to tell her?"

_There is literally no reason not to tell me_ , Hermione thought as she blatantly rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, do we?"

"I'm not sure..."

Alright, she'd had enough of that. "Oh, will you two just tell me already?" She pleaded, desperately trying not to scream at their obstinate attitude.

"Ugh, she reminds me of my mum," the redhead muttered.

"I might avoid meeting your mum for a bit, Ron," Harry responded.

_He did not just say that!_

At least she finally had a name for the redhead. "Now that was just rude!" Hermione exclaimed. Even if he wasn't fond of her, saying as much to her face was uncalled for.

"Oh, relax. I'm just messing with you."

She was really getting tired of them dancing around the topic at hand. "Never mind that, just answer my questions, please!"

"Fine, fine – we decided to follow in Alice's footsteps," Harry answered quickly, as if such a simple response covered everything that needed to be said. Which was of course far from the truth, in fact, the boy's response was entirely unhelpful - even his friend seemed confused by his reply.

"Who's Alice?" The other one, Ron, asked, and she was thankful he did so. With him asking the questions she might actually get some definitive answers.

"You know, Alice, from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll? The crazy guy that was tripping out the entire time he wrote his books?"

Hermione was beyond surprised to hear a wizard referencing a non-magical work of fiction. Though, after he started smoking a cigarette she should have expected he might have been raised in the non-magical world. There were plenty of people enjoying pipes in Diagon Alley, but cigarettes specifically she had not yet seen. Regardless of his habits and upbringing though, what was he trying to say by implying he and his friend went on an adventure to a world filled with the nonsensical?

"Never heard of him," Ron responded with a small shrug. "Muggle author?"

"Yep, muggle author. I didn't realize you were raised in the magical world."

"Yeah, I'm actually pure-blood. I've got magical family on both my mum and dad's side."

_Are they ignoring me again?_ Hermione thought to herself. She could swear she was beginning to develop a twitch.

"Huh, wouldn't have called that. Cool."

_Oh my gosh, they're actually ignoring me again! Are you kidding me?!_

Harry paused briefly and then physically faced his friend, tuning her out entirely. "So, what was it like growing up in the magical world?"

"Will you two please focus!" Hermione yelled. She'd tried to avoid raising her voice, honestly she had, but these boys were easily some of the most infuriating individuals she'd had the displeasure to deal with! Their ability to be difficult without actually shutting her down was beyond infuriating. She would rather just be told no than be forced to engage in such a maddening back and forth! Her stupid curiosity got the best of her once again. Why couldn't her brain have just allowed her to walk away? Why did she actually have to care about the misadventures they had gotten up to?

"What?" Harry raised his arms in defense, physically shielding himself from her metaphorical wrath. "I already said we followed in Alice's footsteps!"

Hermione wasn't the type to generally think in terms of physical violence – but at that moment, she kind of wanted to slap him. "Are you really trying to say that you went to _Wonderland_... whilst riding on a magical train?"

Harry exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Close enough, honestly."

"What's Wonderland?" Ron interjected.

"A fucked up place," Harry eloquently responded.

"Definitely went to Wonderland then."

"I give up!" Hermione proclaimed. "You two are utterly impossible." She began to rise to her feet before the two friends seemed to take a bit of pity on her.

"Okay, okay," Harry sighed, opening a window and gently tapping off the gathered ashes. "What do you want to know? Oh, but first – why do you care?"

Hermione returned to her seated position in front of the two boys and sighed. "First, please throw that disgusting thing out the window," she pointed at his cigarette. "You can harm your own body all you want, but inside you're forcing others to breathe in toxins as well."

Harry rolled his eyes but acquiesced to her demands, sort of anyway. He muttered a spell under his breath that completely put out the cigarette and placed it in a nearby bin. She was quite pleased about that. "Jesus, woman – if you knew what we'd just gone through you wouldn't begrudge me a smoke."

"He's right," Ron mumbled, now lying face down on the floor.

"Besides, there are magic potions that can cleanse your lungs pretty damn easily. I bought like two dozen of them last week."

"He's right," Ron mumbled again, still face down on the floor. It appeared that he was going to let Harry handle most of the talking for now.

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. "It's still rude!"

Harry shrugged and joined his friend in laying down. At least he was face up and easily comprehensible. "Yeah, well, we've had a day and a half. So you'll just have to forgive me if courtesies aren't high on my priority list right now."

Hermione supposed she couldn't get on his case too much about being rude. Goodness knows her mum had spent enough time trying to explain social niceties to her. "Then explain to me what happened. I wish it wasn't the case, but I really am beyond curious about how you both ended up passed out on the floor?"

"Well," Harry began, "I guess it started when we got bored and decided to head up to the roof."

"What!?" Hermione shrieked. "Don't you two know how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, relax. I'm sure there are wards that prevent people from falling off."

Hermione would swear that her jaw hit the floor as she looked at Harry, aghast. "NO!" She yelled. "No, there's not! There are no wards up there at all!"

She had read all about the Hogwarts Express thanks to her dad expressing an interest in magical engineering that resembled non-magical technology. That had led to them buying a book. Which of course had led to her actually reading the book. Which in turn led to her knowing everything there was to know about the Hogwarts Express. The book expressly mentioned that there were NO wards on the roof! None!

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" She cried out, dumbfounded at how casual the boy was in his inquiry.

"Well, shit. Hey, Ron – my bad on that one."

Ron rolled over onto his back and shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, no big deal, I agreed to go. Besides, it was fun. Well, kind of. Fucking Hank."

"Fucking Hank," Harry agreed with a sharp nod.

"How are you both so blasé about almost dying?" Hermione asked, shocked at how little the two friends actually cared about their own well being.

"What? It's not like we fell off," Harry countered. "Not to mention it was nice and sunny out, so there was little chance of us suddenly slipping off. It was perfectly safe."

"It really wasn't any more dangerous than riding a broom," Ron agreed, a huge yawn following his words.

Hermione began to rub her temples soothingly. She could feel a headache coming on, and she wanted to preempt it as best as she could. "Just... keep telling your story." These boys were utterly beyond her comprehension, of that she was certain; but for some ungodly reason she still wished to know what had happened to them.

"Okay," Harry continued, still laying on the ground. "So there was this bloke just sitting on the roof, right?"

Harry then told their bizarre tale. He did so with copious amounts of fanfare and theatricality – the side of Hermione that appreciated verbal storytelling as an art form was begrudgingly impressed – while Ron occasionally chimed in with his own experiences or to add a detail that his friend had neglected to mention. Their tale wasn't a particularly long one, but she found herself engrossed all the same. At first glance, Harry and Ron meeting a strange drifter on the roof of the train before being taken on a journey into the walls of said train was one that beggared belief. And yet, she was actually inclined to believe they were telling the truth.

Hermione knew she barely even qualified as a novice when it came to magic, which was why she ignored her automatic response to dismiss the boys' experiences as nothing more than drug induced hallucinations. Who was she to say what was impossible?

So, since she was operating under the assumption that what the two teens described was possible, she then only had to determine whether she believed they were lying. In Hermione's admittedly amateurish opinion, it was obvious that they were being honest. Both their initial fear and then the steadiness in their voice when sharing their story, thanks to those two aspects, she was simply inclined to believe them.

"So, you just woke up here after walking through the archway? You can't remember anything else that happened?" Hermione asked, seeking a bit of clarification on the detail that bothered her the most.

"Yep," Harry said, popping the 'p'.

"In that case you need to inform a member of the train's staff, or a teacher when we arrive to Hogwarts," Hermione told them in a matter of fact voice.

"Yeah, I'm good not doing that," Harry brushed off her advice with a negligent wave.

"Same here," Ron said, only just now rising into a seated position. "Why would we tell them something that might get us in trouble?"

"You're more concerned about getting in trouble than the possibility that your mind has been tampered with?" Hermione asked, horrified by their utter lack of care towards the sanctity of their memories.

Harry stood up from the floor and stretched. "We're probably fine."

"And if you aren't?" Hermione demanded imperiously, following the boy's example and rising from the floor. Taking a brief moment to smooth out her skirt. She'd double check her appearance in a mirror before they arrived at the school.

"It's our memories, right, so we wouldn't really know, would we?" Ron joined his friend in his stretches, successfully popping his back by the sound of it. "Blimey – that felt good."

"You two really don't care, do you?" Hermione genuinely couldn't believe them. This was a level of personal negligence that she just couldn't wrap her head around. They had absolutely no clue what this 'Hank' had done to them, but they were content to stay ignorant lest they get yelled at for breaking a rule? What kind of person actually thought that way?

"I'd care more if I thought Hank had actually done something to us," Harry replied easily. "He was weird, no doubt about it, but I didn't get the impression that he was malicious."

"What he," Ron cut off as he yawned again, "said. Creepy bloke, but not evil."

"And the fact that you both got the exact same impression of him doesn't disturb you?" Hermione asked, her skepticism obvious.

"Look, Hermione," Harry began, placing his hand on her shoulder, "he was probably just some ghost hobo that haunts the train and has way too much fun messing with students. Nothing to be that concerned about."

That explanation was not good enough for Hermione Granger. Not by a long shot.

"I can't just leave it at that," Hermione declared adamantly.

Ron rolled his eyes at her, seemingly exasperated at her insistence. "Okay, but we can."

"And will."

"Fine!" Hermione said, stomping her feet. "I hope for your sakes that Hank really was a benign spirit, and not some malevolent force that manipulated your minds!" She huffed and grabbed her book, holding it tightly against her chest.

About to storm away, Hermione was distracted by Harry abruptly slapping himself in the forehead. "I am so fucking stupid!" He burst out.

Part of her wanted to again chide the boy for his language and walk away, the other part of her was just curious about his sudden revelation.

"What?" Hermione and Ron said in unison. Both of them recoiling slightly at their shared response.

"I'm a bloody sensor, and not once did I think to actually focus on what I felt when we were inside the walls! Why am I so fucking stupid?"

"You're a sensor?" Ron exclaimed

"What's a sensor?" Hermione asked at the same moment. None of her books had so much as mentioned the term. She had only ever heard it in reference to the non-magical device that wasn't even invented until the fifties.

"A sensor can sense magic!" Ron explained. "Supposedly really powerful wizards and witches can do it too, but sensors can do so naturally. Everyone else has to use spells to even try! They're extremely rare!"

Hermione was amazed that such an ability actually existed, and honestly, she was a bit jealous that she wasn't one. "That's incredible! What is it like? Was the non-magical device named after it in some fashion? Is there a limit on how much you can sense? Can you sense location or just the existence? How about the nature of the magic? Or perhaps its classification? Did sensor as a word evolve from 'sense-er', or was 'sensor' always the word and muggles accidentally adopted it for their own use?" She wanted to know everything about the esoteric ability, and she would not settle for anything less than everything.

"Incredibly hard, more like," Harry responded, shaking his head in annoyance and ignoring all of her questions. "I'm not very good at it yet, most of the time I have to focus if I want to actually sense something. And that focus isn't second nature, so like a bloody idiot, I completely forgot!"

Hermione sympathized with him. That frustration he felt towards himself was a feeling she was familiar with quite well. Every time she missed an easy answer on a test. Whenever she said the wrong thing and pushed a potential friend away. It never evolved to self-loathing, but frustration was an old friend to her.

Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, commiserating with him. "Don't beat yourself up about it, mate – no point in doing so when its already happened. You'll be better at it for next time."

"Ahhhh," Harry groaned, "you're right, you're right. Fuck, that's really annoying though. I mean, think about what -"

"Could you tell me more about sensing, or at least recommend a good book on the subject?" Hermione interjected, her natural curiosity about the intriguing ability getting the better of her. Time and time again her parents had talked to her about not being rude even when presented with information that interested her. It appeared that she still needed quite a bit more practice on that front.

"Seriously?" Harry asked, momentarily stunned before a predatory grin took hold. "Now who's being rude?"

"Please?" Hermione pleaded, her voice much smaller than it was the first time she had asked.

"Okay, sure, but on one condition," Hermione's hopes plummeted as Harry held up a single finger, smirking down at her. "You admit that we're BOTH rude people. Payback from earlier when you called me rude."

"Really?" Hermione sighed, trying to use her eyes to express what she thought of his conditions. Honestly, interrupting someone and smoking inside of a confined space were on entirely different sides of the rude spectrum.

"Say it quickly, or I might make you speak some 'foul language' as well," Harry added, clearly enjoying his sudden position of power.

"You're evil," Hermione pouted. A small part of her, deep, deep down inside, appreciated the humor of the scenario. It wasn't often that she got to speak with people her own age like this. Most would have either insulted her and walked off, or she would have insulted them and done the same. Harry and Ron were both more maddening than almost anyone else she'd ever dealt with; but the longer she spoke with them the more she came to realize that she honestly didn't hate either of their company. She could easily imagine hitting a daily limit on how much of their presence she could tolerate; but in short bursts, they weren't completely dreadful.

Off to the side, Ron suddenly guffawed loudly. "You did say you were the evil twin," he chuckled, pointing at his friend. Apparently Harry had a nicer twin? The twin part was surprising; the fact that Harry was the more evil of the two was not.

"Told you," Harry grinned mercilessly.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione huffed, a hint of a smile threatening to show on her face. "I admit..." She paused, shaking her head as her own amusement broke through. "That we're both rude -"

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed joyfully.

"- BUT you are far more rude than I am, or could ever hope to be for that matter! Interrupting someone doesn't even begin to compare to the level of rudeness and apathy one has to have to smoke indoors!" Hermione finished, watching the dark haired boy celebrate the most meaningless confession of all time.

"The details don't matter, we're both rude. End of story," Harry declared.

"I'm a witness, all I heard was that you were both rude," Ron lied, holding his wand aloft. "So I swear, and so mote it be.."

Hermione and Harry both looked at the redhead with confusion, though Harry was still grinning. "No idea what that was a reference to, mate."

"Oh, yeah – raised by muggles," Ron murmured, returning his wand to his sleeve. "Right."

"Well, are you going to explain what you were doing?" Hermione tried to coax. She wasn't too skilled in the art of persuasion, but she tried.

"It's just an old joke about how easy life would be if magicals could all just hold up a wand and swear something to be truthful, and magic would just take away our magic if we were lying," Ron sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "My dad works in a department that's connected to law enforcement, so its a, uh, it's a common joke."

"Don't worry, Ron – I'm sure Daniel would have laughed," Harry teased.

Hermione wasn't a fan of obscene gestures, but even she thought Harry deserved the two fingers Ron flipped in his direction.

"Anyway, Hermione, I have a book on sensing you can borrow. Follow me to my compartment and its yours."

Hermione was almost stunned that he was actually going to lend it to her. "Really?" She asked, her surprise evident in her tone. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, really. We're attending the same school and you're a friend. Why wouldn't I loan it to you?"

Hermione quickly turned away to hide her growing blush. It wasn't often that she was called a friend, even casually as Harry had done. "Thank you," she said meaningfully, turning back to meet his eyes.

"No biggie," Harry waved off her thanks. "Just don't lose it or destroy it or anything. I paid like five galleons for it."

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, looking at Harry. He appeared to be utterly dumbfounded by his friend's spending habits. "You paid that much for a single book?"

Even Hermione had to admit that was a great deal of money for one book. She was lucky that her parents were well off enough to purchase her any extra books on magic that she – or they, honestly – desired, but roughly 600 pounds for a single book was a _lot_. Especially since the Gringotts Goblins refused to exchange pounds for magical currency. They insisted that paper money was worthless and mundane gold only half a step above worthless – but they were at least still willing to trade for gold.

Apparently, there were magical deposits of gold in the world that were far, far more valuable than mundane gold – and that mundane gold was only valued thanks to how much it resembled magical gold. Once muggles forgot about magic, they forgot about magical gold. Hence the many ancient legends and stories that surrounded the precious metal. Not that the goblins had explained any of this, of course. As was the case with every other subject, Hermione's mum and dad had been more than open to buying a few books if it helped them be less ignorant.

_'Our little girl is now apart of an entirely new world, a new society that we know nothing about. If books can help us learn how to navigate it, then we'll buy as many as it takes.'_

Hermione loved her parents for their willingness to embrace magic. She also loved books, but books were just a bonus on top of everything else that her parents had done for her.

"I told you mate, money isn't a concern of mine at all," Harry said dismissively, casually rolling a galleon in between his fingers as he began to walk away.

"Clearly," Ron murmured, plodding along after him.

Hermione trailed behind the two boys, their banter was as humorous as it was exasperating. As soon as the book Harry agreed to loan to her was in her hand, she was going to return to her compartment. Neither Harry nor Ron were awful by any means, but she could tell that her daily tolerance limit was close to being reached. It would just be better for everyone if they parted ways before they said something hurtful to one another.

Hermione tried to imagine a world where she became best friends with the two boys and shook her head ruefully. _The stress alone would give me an ulcer! Not to mention how frizzy my hair might get like when I was younger! Or the anxiety I'd feel being dragged on their silly adventures! Better we all just remain casual friends, or perhaps good acquaintances._ She resolved then and there to not get entwined in Harry and Ron's antics once they were at Hogwarts. Maybe the nicer twin would be better company for her disposition? There was no way he was going to be more adventurous and crazier than his brother, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, just to let you all know - the song the guitar was playing was a cover of the Harry Potter theme by Eddie van der Meer. I probably listened to that song at least a hundred times over the past few weeks, and I just couldn't resist referencing it in some fashion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains a lemon. Maybe I'm just extra horny thanks to still quarantining pretty heavily, but I wanted to try my hand at writing one. Please give me your thoughts on whether you like it, dislike it, never want to see it again, like it just not for this story, etc, etc. It's the first lemon I've ever written, so I'm actually looking for feedback on it as opposed to everything else I write which is more along the lines of throwing paint at a wall.

_"I love Hogwarts. I never really had friends before coming here. Thanks to this school and being sorted into Gryffindor, I have you, James, and Sirius – and you guys are everything to me. Don't tell James I said that though, he'd just laugh even though we all know he feels the same way. These have easily been the best years of my life. Once the war is over, I think I'm going to look into becoming a teacher. Being able to live and work at Hogwarts... it's a nice dream, don't you think?" -Peter Pettigrew to Remus Lupin on a warm and pleasant day at Hogwarts Castle. May, 1974._

**Chapter 9:**

"FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS, OVER HERE!"

Harry barely paid attention to the colossal man's booming, West Country accent as he continued to gather up the new students. The man in question was certainly large, but he did not quite reach the height of the infamous giants that Harry had heard about. Plus, the giants had a well earned reputation as primitive, savage creatures that formed tribes seemingly for the express purpose of almost killing each other day after day. They weren't exactly the type of creatures to be employed in leading first year students to Hogwarts.

The chill of the nighttime air was not unbearable, but it wasn't pleasant either. What was genuinely unpleasant though was the damn necktie that Daniel had insisted Harry put on. The rest of the uniform wasn't _too_ bad, a bit too neat and clean for his usual taste, but he could probably get away with dressing down to a certain extent once classes began. The necktie though was absolutely unbearable when tightened. _Fuck it, I'm loosening this goddamn thing._

"Really, Harry? Ten minutes and you're already having a conniption?" Daniel asked from his place next to his brother.

"FIRS' YEARS, OVER HERE!"

"Yes, really!" Harry whined, unbuttoning the topmost button and slackening the tie. "How can you all stand to have it constricting your neck like that?"

"One, it's not that bad. Two, you just accept it and move on," Neville said, adding in his completely useless and incorrect stance. "How have you never worn a tie before?"

"How have you never had jeans with holes in them?" Harry countered, now unbuttoning his sleeves underneath the robes. "We grew up in very different worlds, Nev."

Ron uncomfortably fidgeted with his tie but made no move to follow Harry's example. "It really is uncomfortable, but if I loosen this thing now then Percy will get on my case about it. He may even write to my mum, and she'll get on my case even more."

"My sympathies there, friend."

The four companions were all gathered together as they waited for the large and extremely hairy man to direct them where to go. Harry watched wistfully as the older years boarded themselves into self-pulling carriages. He was honestly quite excited for whatever journey the first years were about to be taken on, but he wasn't a fan of waiting around for no reason. There was no way everyone on the train couldn't hear the man's resounding shouts, so there was no reason to hang around this long.

Daniel sighed heavily and cocked his head towards a large group of students that were all whispering and casting subtle looks towards the Boy-Who-Lived and his apparent friends. "I'm blaming you for that, Harry."

Harry was indignant. "What? What did I do?"

"You had people line up to greet me!"

"And some of those people were seriously cute girls. So, you're welcome," Harry replied as if that made everything okay – which in his mind, it did. The short, blonde bird he had taunted seemed a bit acerbic, but she was still hot, which was to say nothing of her ridiculously cute friend. And those were just the first two in line! His little brother had nothing to complain about if you asked him. In fact, Harry was a bit jealous – in spite of his best efforts, he'd never had girls line up to meet him.

Daniel was momentarily distracted, happily staring at nothing as he recalled what were undoubtedly pleasant memories, but he was pulled from his daydreams by Neville thumping him on the back of the head.

"GATHER ROUND, FIRS' YEARS!"

"What was that for?" Daniel exclaimed, rubbing the area of impact and grimacing.

"Just me keeping your ego in check," Neville teased, grinning at his adopted brother.

"Arsehole."

"Git."

Harry tuned out the exchange further as he observed the other first years ambling about. One boy in particular stood out to him. At first glance the boy was utterly unremarkable: average height, quite skinny, mid-length, curly, brown hair. The boy would have likely been considered fairly attractive had it not been for his hard, sunken, and bloodshot eyes with heavy dark circles underneath them. Pale and gaunt, the teen looked like he'd just woken up after having a really, really bad night. Harry recognized the signs that this kid was exhibiting clear as day; they weren't unfamiliar symptoms among some of his old acquaintances.

"You know that guy?" Ron asked, having sidled up next to his friend and following his gaze.

"No," Harry murmured quietly. "But I can tell that he had a rough train ride."

"Blimey, he does look like hell – hey, it's that guy that almost fought your brother."

"FIRS' YEARS!"

Draco Malfoy, as Daniel had named him, had just approached the disheveled teen and passed him a flask. They were speaking far too quietly for Harry to make out what they were saying but given their body language he assumed they were close friends. Malfoy looked like he was censuring the other teen, but it appeared to be the type of censure that came from a place of affection more than anything. Akin to a parent scolding a child when their recklessness almost got them hurt.

"They're probably friends," Harry murmured, his attention still rapt on the duo.

"Better keep an eye on them – the Malfoy family has a really bad reputation. Most people are sure they supported You-Know-Who during the war," Ron warned, his voice hushed.

Harry hummed for a second before shrugging. "Yeah, Daniel mentioned that the guy's dad got off on a technicality, but I'll meet him for myself first. Draco, that is. Even if his family is full of murdering cunts, I don't really put much stock in the opinions of others when it comes to things like this."

"I guess that's fair?" Ron said, a questioning lilt in his voice.

"If it turns out he's a dick, I'll treat him like he deserves. He hasn't done anything to me so far though, so," Harry paused briefly as he turned his focus away from the aristocratic boy. "Can't say I have an opinion on the guy."

"Even though Daniel said he was a foul git?"

"I'm not my brother, mate."

That seemed to get through to the redhead as he looked slightly guilty. "I'm so used to seeing twins be almost the exact same person. Fred and George, two of my brothers, they're twins, and they're so alike that I assumed all twins were like that too. My bad, there," he apologized.

"No harm, no foul," Harry replied, waving off what he thought of as a needless, though appreciated, apology. "If he and I had grown up with each other we'd probably be a lot more alike."

"ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP," the gigantic man exclaimed, somehow far louder than his previous calls, a fact that Harry hadn't thought possible. "C'MON, AND FOLLOW ME. BE SURE TO MIND YER STEP, AND DON' WANDER OFF! FIRS' YEARS, THIS WAY!"

The large crowd of students had no issue hearing the man and grouped up to follow him. Harry and Ron remained close to one another but didn't even try to keep an eye out for anyone else in particular amid the chaotic throng of students. Their humongous guide took them down a steep, narrow, and poorly lit path. Most of the assembled teens slipped or stumbled at least once as they walked. Harry swore he heard Hermione's voice among the many that were grumbling aloud about the conditions of their path. The dark, closely packed trees packed on either side of the trail prevented them from seeing anything beyond it. Only the third quarter moon and the vivid constellations were visible in the night sky above.

The slim pathway rapidly widened and opened onto the edge of great black lake. The glimmering stars refracted off the water's surface, light show entirely of nature's creation. On the other side of the lake, a high mountain rose towards the heavens. There, perched atop the peaks, its windows flickering in the dark, was a magnificent, vast castle.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the gargantuan structure, its many turrets and towers almost innumerable in the night sky. He made no claims to being an expert on medieval structures, but the sheer size of Hogwarts _dwarfed_ every other castle he'd ever heard of. The famed Windsor Castle absolutely paled in comparison to the majesty of the magical school – for what else could it be but magical.

"NO MORE'N FOUR TO A BOAT!" Their escort called, snapping everyone out of the trance that had taken hold of them. Harry quickly realized that being riveted on the glorious castle in the distance was not an experience unique to him. Momentarily confused at the directions that had been called out, Harry saw that floating on the surface of the water, right near the edge, were dozens upon dozens of small boats.

"Blimey – I can't believe we're going to be living in that," Ron said, his voice barely a whisper.

The two friends stepped into one of the empty boats and claimed their seats. Harry barely paid any mind to the two students that climbed in after them, completely enthralled by the castle in the distance. Without even being entirely cognizant of what he was doing, Harry lit up a single cigarette and lounged against the edge of the wooden craft.

_'Explore, Harry Evans. Explore.'_ Tom's words reverberated through his mind without bidding.

_Don't worry, you creepy bastard, I intend to._ Something about Hogwarts _called_ to Harry. It had nothing to do with him being a sensor, of that he was certain. At that moment he just wanted to be inside the ancient castle, to stand inside the walls and run his hand across the aged stonework. It shouldn't have been possible to feel nostalgia for this place he had never known before, but Harry had no other way to describe the longing he felt.

"EVERYONE IN?" The large man's voice sounded on the edge of Harry's reverie, just barely cutting through his focus. The imposing man had a boat entirely to himself and he was standing on his feet in an impressive display of control and balance. "RIGHT THEN – FORWARD!"

The fleet of boats then moved forward all at once, following the large man's direction as he held his lantern aloft. The lake's surface was as smooth as glass they glided across it. Silence blanketed the students as they sailed nearer and nearer to the grand castle that loomed above them. Their voices stolen by the spectacle alone.

"WATCH YOURSELVES!" Their guide shouted as the first of the boats approached a curtain of ivy that fell over a wide opening in the cliff face.

Harry idly brushed a few of the hanging vines out of the way of his head. What he had assumed would just be a dark tunnel proved to be so much more. The light of the lantern illuminated murals that seemed to move with the flickering glow of the flames. One showing four friends as they held their wands high, magic blossoming forth. Another depicted Hogwarts itself with a coiled snake slumbering below, hidden away beneath the castle. Rowena Ravenclaw as she studied the stars atop the tallest tower. Helga Hufflepuff in front a small hearth, stirring ingredients into a cauldron as she drained a tankard of ale. Godric Gryffindor, wand in one hand, a ruby encrusted sword in the other, as he faced down ten men. Salazar Slytherin as he drew alchemic circles in the confines of his study lit only by a single candle. If one looked closely, they would see that these paintings did not move, but in the low, lambent light, they still told a story. A story about Hogwarts and her history.

Eventually, the party of first years arrived at some manner of underground harbor, with a rocky shoreline that met with stone construction. The wrought path then connected to a long flight of stone stairs that led directly to the castle's heavy, wooden gates.

"Alright now, everybody out of the boats!" The hulking man's voice reverberated inside the stone cavern, evidently there was no need for him to yell in here.

Harry joined the mass of students as they clambered out of the boats and onto the uneven shore. For some reason, Harry had difficulty keeping his mind on the present. All of the others milled around him, but he felt as if he weren't actually among their number. Ron's words beckoned him to walk; he could hear them, understand them, but they felt distant all the same.

Focus, he told himself, but it was for naught. Focus was not the heart of his issue – if it could even be called that, as the effects were not truly adverse in any way. Awareness and attention for the world had not left him, instead it was as if the magic of the castle was always in his periphery, begging to be noticed further but constantly moving out of the limelight. Whatever it was that had taken hold in his mind, it refused to dissipate. The new sensation was one that he was slowly becoming acclimated to as he journeyed up the numerous stone stairs. Like everyone else, he remained mute in the face of their introduction to the venerated castle.

"Everyone still here?" The large man called. Not the most useful question in the world by Harry's estimation. If anyone was missing, they wouldn't exactly be able to announce it themselves. Their guide raised a gigantic fist – large enough to easily crush a man's head – and knocked three times on the castle's iron inlaid gates.

The heavy doors slowly creaked open, a warm glow from within escaping through the widening space. There, standing on the other side was a witch that Harry was already familiar with, though her wardrobe had changed significantly. The ever-attractive Minerva McGonagall still had her dark hair pulled up in a tight bun, the same small glasses resting on her narrow nose; now dressed in elegant, emerald-green robes tinged with a healthy amount of black. Even more eye-catching was the splendiferous and stereotypical witches' hat that she wore upon her head, slightly cocked to one side. Had Harry not already met the stern woman, he might have guessed that she was simply making a joke, bringing some levity to the otherwise subdued, yet captivating experience. But no, this was real, and Harry loved it so, so much.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall. All safe and accounted for."

"Thank you, Hagrid," McGonagall said, her eyes briefly flicking up towards her coworker's own before returning to the students. "I will take them from here."

Hagrid lumbered off, muttering to himself. What about Harry neither knew nor cared, because McGonagall had just directed them to take their first steps inside Hogwarts.

The entrance hall alone blew his expectations out of the water. It. Was. _Huge_. The ceiling stretched further than his sight allowed, never mind that he'd seen the tops of the towers from the outside. The grand marble staircase was pristine and polished, leading to a landing from which dozens of hallways and staircases broke away. Flaming sconces lined the walls, leaving only the corners shrouded in shadow.

Even just while standing in the entrance hall and looking into the corridors that branched away from it, Harry could see moving suits of armor. Their hollow bodies moved without assistance, their heads following the crowd – some watched impassively, some saluted respectfully, while others brandished their weapons aggressively; weapons that clearly bore runic carvings. Paintings too numerous to count lined much of the walls; with the denizens of said paintings happily moving between frames. There were woven tapestries aplenty; each one beautifully crafted, all of various design and style. Some lay flat against the wall while others billowed from a non-existent wind, only to reveal a hidden passageway behind it. There were statues with eyes that followed those walking past, potted plants that seemed truly _alive_. And dotted around there were strange artifacts, some in glass display cases, others simply hung on the wall: weapons, talismans, relics from a bygone age – each with small placards providing brief tidbits of information.

Beyond the decorations and memorabilia that the castle clearly had a surplus of – Hogwarts was permeated with an inexplicable sense of _weight_. The flagged stone floors cracked with age but still polished and smooth. The ancient, stone-brick walls, occasionally marred by a chip or scorch mark, but walls that had stood firm for over a millennium. The wooden benches carved with initials and names – each one telling the story of students that had come before. There was an undeniable significance born from walking within Hogwarts – one that Harry would never quite be able to define.

Off to the right, Harry heard the voices of hundreds of what he presumed were students, but McGonagall showed them into a small chamber instead. Not that the chamber was empty, for inside were a number of spectral, semi-transparent figures. Their ghastly appearance made a couple of students scream and jump back in fright. Ron swore quietly as a ghost covered in bloods and chains floated up from the floor directly next to him while Harry just looked around in excitement.

"I'd heard rumors of ghosts," a girl whispered from beside Harry, "but I didn't expect them to look so -"

"Real?" Harry finished for her, his excited grin still in placed as he turned to face his new source of conversation. The brown skinned girl was stunningly beautiful, with long dark hair and eyes. Harry wasn't sure if magic was to thank or not, but the seemingly large number of attractive witches and wizards in the world was nothing but a boon if you asked him.

The girl returned his smile. "Something like that, yeah. I mean, they're just souls that haven't passed on, right? So why would anyone expect them to look like their human selves?"

Harry had read a bit about ghosts in one of his books, but neither he nor the author were still entirely certain of why they were still present on the mortal plane. "I've heard there's still some debate on why their souls stick around?" He said, extending his hand towards the girl. "Harry Evans, by the way – ignoramus on ghosts."

"Padma Patil, also an ignoramus on ghosts," Padma replied, laughing and gesturing to the girl that was repeatedly jumping in the air to try and get a better view of the spectral figures, "and this is my sister, Parvati."

At the mention of her name, Parvati turned and looked over towards Harry and her twin sister – though not an identical twin. Despite clearly being sisters, the two gorgeous girls were easily distinguishable from one another, a fact only helped along by the large, golden hoop earrings Parvati had, as opposed to the small, presumably diamond studs worn by her sister. Parvati brazenly checked Harry out, for a few seconds before smiling mischievously at her sister. "Well, hello there. You got my name already, but I missed yours," she said, winking at him and gently biting her bottom lip as she smiled.

Padma took one look at her sister's rather ostentatious flirting and groaned. "Really? Already? We literally just stepped inside."

Harry, who had returned the flirtations from Parvati with a sly smile of his own, watched the two sisters without even trying to hide his amusement. Padma didn't seem angry per se, but exasperation certainly fit the bill.

"Just living up to my namesake," Parvati responded easily, still making eyes at Harry – a gesture he was more than happy to return.

"Being named after a fertility goddess does not mean you have to throw yourself at every boy you meet!"

"Goddess of beauty too, don't forget that," Parvati cheekily added. "And you should try having some fun with a boy now and again. That stick you have shoved up your arse shouldn't be the only intimate relationship you have." Harry thought Parvati's snipe towards her sister was a drastic escalation of the argument, but Padma did not seem that affronted at all, honestly, she looked as if she had been expecting such a caustic response. Sisterly love was truly a wondrous thing to behold.

"Intimate? Relationship?" Padma scoffed. "Please, like whoring yourself out to every guy that stares at your ass qualifies as an intimate relationship. You're a cock-sleeve, hon', don't delude yourself into thinking you mean anything more to them."

_Damn, that was fucking brutal._

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron whispered from behind him as he motioned towards the bickering twins. "Did you start that?"

"I wish, mate," Harry murmured back, intent on not missing a single word of the biting exchange.

"Oh, don't even try and pretend like I wasn't the best thing that ever happened to those boys," Parvati bit back, one hand dramatically placed upon her hip. "They were practically begging for my attention the entire time! Besides, we both know I'm not _that_ loose."

"Could have fooled me!" Padma retorted, crossing her arms.

The two sisters' rapidly intensifying argument was interrupted by Professor McGonagall somehow gaining everyone's attention without making a single sound – Harry was actually impressed by her little trick. Controlling crowds of students at that level could only be gained through decades of experience. The two sisters ceased their hostilities and turned towards the professor. Parvati took a moment to wink at him coquettishly but refrained from any further flirting as she focused on the ensuing introduction. Ron, who had apparently noticed the playful gesture, nudged Harry and gave him a subtle thumbs up.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Professor McGonagall began loudly, "the start of term banquet will begin shortly. Before you take your seats in the Great Hall however, there is the matter of sorting you into your Houses. There are four Houses, one for each of the school's founders and the traits they valued. While you are in Hogwarts, your Houses will be like your family. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in the same dormitories, share a common room, and the list goes on."

Harry had already pieced together a decent amount of the House system just based on the offhanded comments that others had made, but many of the finer details eluded him. The founders had apparently just wanted to group students in some way and so they devised the House system; he wasn't quite sure why, but he had no complaints. Regardless, no one ever said that you couldn't associate with students from other Houses.

"The four Houses are named after the four founders of our great school: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own proud and noble history, and each has produced exceptional witches and wizards throughout the years."

Harry respected the healthy egos the four founders had possessed. They were apparently unrivaled in ability, so it only made sense, but they had successfully enshrined their names with the traits they valued. The number of times he had heard references to the Houses from those that had graduated decades prior clearly proved as much.

"Every year the four Houses compete to earn the House cup, a great honor that also comes with a number of benefits for the students of said House. Your triumphs will earn you points for your House, while rule-breaking will lose you points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points wins the cup."

Though it might have just been his cynical side talking, Harry couldn't imagine that many students actually gave a flying fuck about the honor that came from winning the House cup. Teenagers were by and large rebellious and impetuous bastards – Harry would know, he was one after all. _Nobody_ would actually give a damn about following every little rule in life if all it amounted to was a pat on the back. Hell, even if the rewards were only semi-decent, he still doubted that most of the school's populace would give a damn. House pride was a thing, he'd already confirmed as much, but it was entirely possible for the students of a House to not desire to lose while also not really showing much care towards winning. Further judgment would be reserved until after the rewards system had been explained to him. If the Hogwarts staff had any understanding of teenagers then the rewards might just be worth it after all.

"I hope each of you will prove to be a credit to whichever House shall become yours. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin, so please follow after me in an orderly fashion," Professor McGonagall finished.

Harry ended up in between Ron and Parvati in the line, a fact that Harry became _very_ appreciative of when the flirty girl ever so slyly kept rubbing against him with her extremely shapely arse. He had never met a girl that was as forward as Parvati Patil, but by the gods did he already love her for it.

The Great Hall lived up to its name splendidly, more so than Harry had expected. Thousands of lit candles floated in the air above four grandiose tables that already seated the rest of the student body. The ceiling was just like the night sky, an endless expanse of velvety black dotted with stars. If he didn't know better, he would swear that there was no ceiling at all. The older students each had golden plates and goblets placed in front of them, filled with various drinks and an assorted mix of breads and dipping oils. Harry had heard mention of there being a feast, it only made sense that the older students would be offered some sort of starter course during the Sorting Ceremony. The woes of being a first year, he supposed. _Guess we're not allowed to eat until we've been sorted_ , he thought to himself, wryly hoping that the order for sorting would be alphabetical.

At the top of the hall there two more long tables, tiered on different levels, that seated all of the teachers – and quite the eclectic group they proved to be. Albus Dumbledore was easily distinguishable from the others with his place in the center. His large, gilded, throne-like chair placed him a bit higher than all the rest. The man had long, gray hair that reached past his shoulders; what was also long but surprisingly well kept was his gray beard that reached shortly beyond the collar of his ostentatious crimson robes. The man's piercing blue eyes twinkled even behind the half-moon spectacles resting on his nose, one that appeared to have been broken many times in the past. Why the man hadn't just used magic to fix his nose was a mystery, but at the very least it did add more character to the legendary headmaster. There was an extremely beautiful dark-skinned witch that barely looked older than the students, a diminutive, little wizard with an impressive mustache, a tall, pale wizard wearing a purple turban, the ever-imposing Hagrid, a hook-nosed wizard that stared sullenly at everyone around him, a witch with heterochromatic eyes and a shock of white hair despite her features suggesting she was not nearly so old, and those were just the first few he'd noticed. There were almost two dozen teachers all in total, which fit Harry's expectations reasonably well.

McGonagall led the first-year students to an area off to the side that was directly in between the rest of the students and the teachers. While the first years shuffled into place, the Deputy Headmistress wasted no time in placing an old, somewhat frayed hat on top of a small four-legged stool, situated in front of the entire school.

_Now, what are you?_ Harry thought wildly, his focus now fixated on the strange wizard's hat that was, by all appearances anyway, integral to the Sorting Ceremony. _Obviously, you're a powerful magical artifact, but what else?_ Harry reached his own conclusion at the exact moment that it should have become obvious to all the other first years that lacked his fairly unique ability. _Sentience!_

In the brief time since he had learned of magic, Harry had already encountered many examples of magical artifacts that were seemingly sentient. Paintings, portraits, wands, the occasional book, the list went on – but none of those had truly possessed a soul of their own. It was an accepted fact in the magical world that souls existed and had great meaning. What exactly a soul was remained a hotly contested and ongoing debate, but its existence was never called into question.

Souls were an enigma. They were present in all beings, though the nature of souls differed greatly by species. Clearly able to be created, as evidenced by the creation of new life and by extension the new soul that lay within; and yet, souls weren't strictly tied to life, as evidenced by ghosts, poltergeists, and a number of other creatures simply defined as 'non-beings'. A nebulous topic to be sure, but one that had an entire branch of magic built around it. Souls were _difficult_ , that statement was common even among experts, and Harry was by no means an expert on the subject. His own knowledge barely extended beyond that which he'd gained from Amon Staghart. Knowledge that wasn't even the most useful as the personal opinions and beliefs held by the author of _Good and Evil; Light and Dark: What Does Magic say about Morality_ was not the type of information Harry was going to immediately accept as fact. That wasn't to say that said information did not still have value to Harry though, after all, it had piqued his interest in a topic that had hitherto been unknown to him.

Harry had spent time sensing the magic within portraits. The complicated magic befuddled him in more ways than he could count, but the _feeling_ of that magic was something he became fairly familiar with. The well-learned seller of paintings in Diagon Alley had referred to portraits as but a shell of whomever it was they depicted. An impression of the soul captured with magic and preserved with paints and dyes. In many ways they seemed alive, like they really were the immortalized form of a person that had passed from the world, but they weren't. Magical items that possessed a semblance of personality were even more common than genuine imprints of souls. A purely fictional painting here, a wand there; from a temperamental tea-kettle to an aggressive chess board. Such items were naught but faux facsimiles of a sense of self and identity, ultimately nothing more than a reflection of their creator's intent.

Even with all of the information Harry had though, he would bet every galleon he owned on the fact that the Sorting Hat, the self-proclaimed 'Thinking Cap', had a _soul._

"Remind me to punch my brother, Fred, later on," Ron whispered fiercely to Harry. "He had me believing that the sorting involved casting a spell of your choice, and that the teachers would evaluate what you cast and how well you casted it! Do you know how long I've been practicing the color change charm to turn something red?"

Harry barely managed to shake his head in the negative while trying to suppress his mirth.

"Weeks! I practiced for weeks! It's a bloody difficult spell!"

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry smiled back at his friend, "but that's just funny."

The two friends began to subtly elbow one another as Professor McGonagall called up names to have the Sorting Hat placed upon their head. In alphabetical order of course. Apparently in both the muggle world and the magical one, children with surnames that began with the latter letters of the alphabet just had shit luck. Harry was rather pleased at that moment that his adopted last name began with an 'E'.

Though, after thinking about it for a second, Harry wondered which name McGonagall would call out? Evans or Potter? Evans was the only name he'd ever known, but he was still legally considered a member of House Potter – he knew that for a fact, he'd checked. His parents had been married and hell, he was still the heir to the head seat of House Potter. Surely those two elements meant his actual name was Potter and that Evans was more of a nickname instead of anything official? Then again, his Hogwarts Letter had been addressed to Evans…

Harry's thought processes then led him to another question: how the fuck had his letter even known which bedroom he slept in? The only conclusions he could arrive at were that magicals spied on prospective Hogwarts students for the inanest reasons imaginable, or the creation of the letter was automatic. If it was automatic, then that spoke of a magic that was tied to names – which would seem to suggest that his magical name was Evans? But why would it be Evans when not only had his magical parents named him Potter, but he was still a member of House Potter? Did the method used to create Hogwarts letters take into account preferred names, or in his case, the only name he knew? That didn't seem like that much of a stretch given that the magic was aware of very bedroom he slept in. Of course, Harry also had to consider the fact that in his case, the letter had been hand delivered by a woman who knew who he was beforehand. It would have been easy for McGonagall to alter what was written for his sake; especially given the order of events that she introduced him to magic and by extension his past.

Honestly, Harry wouldn't even care which name was called if it wasn't for the existence of magical contracts. They were an accepted and fairly common element within magical society, so he needed to learn which name he would have to use in order to properly sign one – preferably yesterday. Not knowing was practically inviting problems his way. _I wonder if the terms of a contract could be dodged by signing the wrong name,_ Harry pondered. _I'll look it up later. The Hogwarts library is supposed to be huge, so thank christ for small mercies at least._

The Sorting Ceremony was progressing more quickly than Harry would have initially guessed. On average each student only took about thirty to forty seconds to be sorted, with the Hat being on their head for less than ten of those seconds – the rest was just McGonagall calling out names, or the first years walking to their seats while the older students politely cheered their acquisition of a new House mate. An approximate eighty-minute-long Sorting Ceremony was still quite long, but it could have easily been worse.

The magic that slightly altered the student's uniform from all black to reflect their House's colors was interesting, but Harry was not yet learned enough to even begin guessing the theory behind such magic – and he wasn't even about to try sensing an effect that was that small, not when he himself was about to be sorted in the coming minutes.

"Ugh, this wait is torture," Ron complained quietly, casting wistful looks towards the warm breads and refreshing drinks that kept materializing on the tables. The tables they weren't allowed to sit at yet.

"I'm sure it won't take too long to reach the Ws," Harry said sarcastically.

"You know, Harry," Ron dryly replied, "you kind of suck sometimes. I'm going to be standing here till the end of the bloody ceremony. I mean, we're literally still on the Bs!"

Harry wasn't going to argue that one. Ron's predicament amused him and he would not hide that fact. "Man, you're going to get really bored, huh?"

"Tosspot," was Ron's succinct reply.

"Bones, Susan!"

A somewhat shy redheaded girl answered McGonagall's summons. Her head was held high, but one only had to glance at her hands to find them clutching the ends of her skirt in a death grip.

"Bloody hell, you see how fit she is now," Ron murmured, an appreciative glint in his eye as he followed the cute redhead's movements towards the Sorting Hat.

_Now?_ "You know her?" Harry asked.

"Not really, met her at this Ministry function about two years back. Or was it three years? Anyway, her aunt is my dad's boss' boss."

"So, you guys snogged or what?" Harry had never been to any kind of posh, high society party – which is what he assumed this function was given that it was held by the Ministry of Magic – but his experience with other types of parties was not nearly so limited. Based on the fun that he had been able to have at parties, Harry hoped his friend had been able to share in similar experiences.

"Boot, Terry!"

"No," Ron sighed dejectedly. "I was way too insecure for that. Susan and I barely spoke five words before we both practically ran away and hid. She hadn't quite lost all of her baby fat back then, but damn, she was still cute – even more cute now."

"Get yourself sorted into Hufflepuff then and correct the mistakes of your past. Go forth and impress the cute girl, Ron!" Harry's eyes sparkled with amusement as he teased his friend.

Harry wasn't sure what House he would be sorted into, but he was as sure as possible that it wasn't going to be Hufflepuff. Not that he had anything against loyalty, but the idea of being just and true, patient and unafraid of toil… it just wasn't him. Sure, he could work hard, but the path of least resistance was almost always the superior one. Ravenclaw was also likely not the House for him. Harry quite enjoyed learning and being witty, but neither of those two traits embodied him or his ideals. Slytherin or Gryffindor were the only two Houses he could imagine himself getting sorted into. But, at the end of the day, he wasn't exactly the one that made the decision. Nope, that was left to a bloody hat.

"Bradley, Erin!" McGonagall announced loudly, continuing to shout out names as she worked her way down the list.

Ron snorted loudly, a bit too loudly if the way a few students glared at him were any indicator. "Me? A Puff? Fat chance."

"Even for a girl that cute?" Harry pressed.

"Nobody wants to be a Hufflepuff, Harry. Not even Hufflepuffs want to be Hufflepuffs."

Harry didn't know much about the history of the House, so he couldn't comment too much, but even he had to admit that Hufflepuff was a spectacularly moronic name. McGonagall had lectured him once about judging magical nomenclature, but since Ron was also mocking the House, he felt a bit more justified in his derision.

"Hey! My father was in Hufflepuff!" A boy exclaimed quietly. He had maneuvered his way right next to Harry and Ron after hearing their comments on Hufflepuff, much to their amusement.

"Poor bloke," Ron replied, wholly unapologetic in his degradation of the famed House.

"Will you all be quiet!" Hermione Granger had also chosen to make an appearance in their impromptu discussion.

_Wonder if she realizes she's the loudest of us all?_ Harry mused, thoroughly entertained by the growing number of interjections.

As Ron turned to quietly, but fiercely, engage with Hermione in what Harry imagined was an argument, his own attention was stolen by Padma Patil nudging him in the side.

"Sorry about earlier, with my sister and all," she whispered, leaning her mouth closer to his ear. Harry had to lower his head a bit to accommodate the girl, but height difference between them was relatively small, so it wasn't exactly difficult for him to do so.

Harry raised a single eyebrow towards the girl. "Are you apologizing for you two arguing, or for her flirting?"

"A bit of both?" Padma said sheepishly, though she didn't sound entirely certain herself. She played with a ring on her finger for a few moments before continuing, her words far firmer than before. "No, I'm only sorry for the arguing, actually. Parvati is welcome to fool around with anyone she wishes."

Harry chuckled to himself as he began to roll a galleon between his fingers, the wait was starting to get to him, and Padma had inadvertently reminded him of his favorite little token. "Not fond of your sister's proclivity for the sexual then?"

"It's not that," Padma said, crossing her arms defensively, "I mean, I'm not exactly a pure maiden myself, but it's _literally_ the first thought on her mind whenever she sees a cute guy."

"Did you just call me cute?"

"Shut up, I'm making a point," Padma brushed off his question without hesitation, a small smirk the only sign his teasing comment landed at all. "She didn't even know your name, but she was already planning to shag you."

"I'll be honest, I personally see no issue with that," Harry would defend promiscuous women to his dying breath. _Sluts make the world a happier place, that's just a fact._

"You're the beneficiary in this scenario, so of course you wouldn't," Padma laughed softly. He didn't _think_ she was offended by his logic, but he'd been wrong before...

"Campbell, Madeline" McGonagall called out. Harry caught sight of a cute girl with black hair that had ranked among Daniel's fans from the train making her way towards the Hat.

"So, you're upset that your sister enjoys a good shag?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light and free of judgment.

"No, everyone enjoys a good shag," Padma countered, "I'm upset that my sister can't think of anything else even when we're walking into Hogwarts!" She took a moment to calm herself, taking deep, measured breaths before continuing. "Parvati isn't the brainless bimbo her first impression might suggest – I'm smarter, of course, but she's up there too. And it's not like I actually mind that she's fond of sex, I just wish she would tone down how obvious she is about it."

"Far be it from me to try and play therapist," Harry murmured quietly, his eyes still glued forwards so as to give the impression that he was paying attention to the sorting, "but it sounds to me like you just disagree with how forward your sister is."

"That much was always obvious, dear," Padma said, her somewhat condescending smirk demonstrating quite clearly what she thought of his capabilities as an armchair psychologist. "It bothers me, but that doesn't mean I'm wasting my time trying to change her."

"Then what was with your argument earlier?" Harry didn't buy her dismissive attitude, not in its entirety anyway. Sure, neither Padma nor Parvati had seemed to put off by the insults they hurled at one another, but they were still vehemently disagreeing.

"It's Hogwarts," Padma whispered, her voice passionate. "We've grown up hearing all about this castle, but she acted like she barely cared. I _know_ she does care, but still!"

"If you grew up with stories of Hogwarts, that must mean you're from around Britain then?" Harry asked, slightly eager to change the subject away from the issues between the two sisters. He didn't understand, but honestly it wasn't his place to pry farther when he'd only just met them. He'd stuck his foot in his mouth once already – an experience that Padma had been kind enough to gloss over – a repeat performance wasn't something he was keen on. Subject changes did not have to be smooth or pretty, they just had to fucking work.

"Be honest, where did you think I was from?"

"India?" Harry said uncertainly; he was nowhere close to being an expert on surnames, but guessing wasn't beyond the realm of his capabilities.

"Nice guess," Padma's eyebrows rose in slight surprise. "My father is from India, but my mother is British, so we," she gestured to herself and Parvati, who was standing a bit away, "were raised in London. Seriously though, nice guess. I expected you to be way off."

"And how can you be sure I was guessing?" Harry was basking in his successful shot in the dark and decided to push his luck in his attempts to impress the cute girl.

"Oh, please," Padma scoffed, "you didn't even try to hide it."

"Hide what? That was a calculated assumption!" He lied, grinning broadly even as she rolled her eyes.

"Cooke, Damian!"

Padma folded her arms as she readjusted her posture, showing that she was settling in for a long wait. "You have way too much fun lying even when the truth is obvious," she said, chuckling at Harry's sudden and quite false outrage.

"Miss Patil, are you casting aspersions on my character?" Harry challenged, the effects of his theatrics heavily dulled thanks to his muted tone.

"Absolutely."

Harry placed one of his hands over his heart. "You wound me," he whined.

Padma smirked but her attention was stolen away by someone else before she could respond. The majority of the first years were standing quietly while they waited for their turn to be sorted, with the occasional duo speaking quietly. Anyone that got too loud was quickly silenced by McGonagall's piercing gaze, that included the older students and even some of the teachers. _That woman is terrifying_ , Harry thought to himself.

Harry debated trying to find some other way to entertain himself until his name was called, but in lieu of having anyone to speak with he resigned himself to what he hoped would be a small wait. _Evans. Please just call out Evans. I want to sit and eat food. Please call out Evans._

Luckily for him, Harry did not have to wait long. Less than ten minutes had passed before his name was echoing throughout the hall, "Evans, Harry!"

Without hesitation Harry began to saunter his way forward. There were an uncommonly large number of eyes following him as he walked, far more so than any other student thus far. The whispers were not difficult to hear.

"Is that him?"

"The one who said he was the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, yeah."

"They do look alike..."

"Kind of, I guess."

Harry smirked internally. There was never going to be any hope of him keeping a low profile as the forgotten Potter son, so he decided to openly embrace his title instead. His little show on the train was just the first display. Harry was more than comfortable enough with the grandstanding even though it wasn't normally his style. In his opinion the best way to deal with his newfound fame and mystique was to get the whispers and questions out of the way early on instead of allowing them to sit and fester into rumor. The world would likely get used to his existence soon enough, but so long as he wasn't treated as an accessory to his brother, he honestly didn't care if they talked about him.

Professor McGonagall had already taken a small step back, allowing him to take a seat on the surprisingly sturdy wooden stool without issue. As soon as Harry was properly positioned, his vision was obscured by the inside of the of patched hat.

_"Well, well, well – your mind is fun."_

A voice, deep and laced with confidence, resounded through Harry's mind the instant it settled onto his head. It was just another being that could peruse his mind freely. Harry couldn't exactly be upset about it this time, the Sorting Hat was probably as old as Hogwarts itself.

_"Nothing special, of course, but quite the amusing headspace nonetheless."_

The hat's words were not correctly aligned with Harry's perception of time. More time should have passed around him than what had, almost as if what he was hearing in his mind was progressing at a faster pace than reality.

_"Oh? What's this? Something even I can't see? No, just an individual deliberately shrouding themselves. Now where did they learn to do that? Would that I could sit upon your head for a few minutes and break through their magic, it's so very intriguing..."_

Harry knew then and there that it was Tom the Sorting Hat was referring to. Somehow that crazy bastard had obscured himself from the hat that boasted being able to see through anything hidden. Almost two months later and Tom continued to impress.

_"Ah, but they didn't go far enough, did they? Through them you've learned of so many interesting topics that you shouldn't have any knowledge of. Dangerous topics. Topics that most of the world has forgotten about... Who did you speak with, I wonder?"_

_You'll never know,_ Harry thought to himself, though he imagined the hat could hear him. The hat did not seem as if it was actually interested in having a conversation, just talking _at_ whomever it was placed upon.

_"A mystery for another day, but you've assuredly given me a project for the next seven years. Ah, I digress, your sorting is all but determined, I only need a second or two more."_

Harry would have never thought that time would be such a useless frame of reference.

_"You would do well in either House. Your personality, your traits, your values above all else, they would allow you to find a home regardless of where you find yourself."_

Slytherin or Gryffindor, it mattered not to Harry which House he was placed into. _As long as it doesn't flip things on me and shout Ravenclaw to the world..._ The idea of being a Hufflepuff didn't even cross his mind. There were some things in life that were simply beyond the realm of possibility.

_"Better be..._ GRYFFINDOR!"

The table full of Gryffindors erupted into applause as McGonagall removed the Hat from Harry's head. It may have just been his ego talking, but he thought the applause for him was just a bit larger than what the other students received.

Harry walked to the open section near the front of the table that had been left open and available for the new first year students.

"Oh my god, Harry! We're in the same House!" Lavender Brown said happily as she patted the open seat next to her.

On the other side of the table, Fay Dunbar, if Harry recalled correctly, smiled at him prettily but deigned not to speak.

"Are you honestly surprised?" Harry asked quietly, the hall having returned to a state of quiet as Curtis Evercreech's name was called out.

"Why would I be? I told you earlier that I knew we'd become best friends."

Harry chuckled lightly at Lavender's previous claim that her great-grandmother was a seer, and that her bloodline occasionally allowed her to just 'know' things. "I thought you were full of shit."

"You're going to learn very quickly not to doubt me, Harry Evans," Lavender declared with confidence, lightly buttering some bread and ignoring the ceremony entirely.

"That so?" Harry asked, grabbing some bread for himself and finally partaking. He caught sight of Ron watching him from the other side of the room, so naturally he pointed at his food and gave a thumbs up to his still standing friend. The rude gesture Harry received in reply was honestly well deserved.

"Mmmmhmmmm!" Lavender hummed, covering her mouth with her hand that was complete with beautifully painted and manicured nails.

"Wouldn't be very Gryffindorish of me to doubt a friend, would it?"

"That's a good point," Lavender agreed, pointing her finger at Harry.

"Honestly though," Harry began, "I like to think I was sorted into Gryffindor thanks to the daring and nerve part rather than the chivalry."

"Chivalry wasn't even a thing by that name until after Godric Gryffindor had died," Fay said, cutting into the conversation. "And even then, it mostly pertained to the rules and ethics of combat rather than an honorable code as most think about it today." The pretty brunette looked somewhat bashful at the blank-faced stares Harry and Lavender were leveling towards her. "Sorry, both of my parents were Gryffindors. I'm a big fan of the House..." She quickly turned away, her curly brown hair hiding her face from view.

Harry shrugged blithely, utterly unconcerned with the detailed piece of history. He wasn't the chivalrous type, and he wasn't even going to pretend such was the case. Luckily, he doubted that he was alone. Nothing about Lavender struck him as chivalrous either.

"I better not be expected to be some kind of combat witch just because I was sorted into Gryffindor," Lavender urgently whispered to him. "Daddy took me to watch a dueling tournament once, and yeah, it was fun to watch – but I don't want to learn that stuff!"

_Blood sport truly has no rival,_ Harry mused. The 'dueling circuit' was just a colloquialism for the many, many dueling tournaments that took place across the world; the scale of which varied from small, local tournaments to the grand championship featuring the best from around the world. Harry hadn't yet attended one of the tournaments himself, but they were supposed to be _brutal_. Deaths weren't the norm, but nor were they exceedingly rare. On the other hand, permanent injuries and maiming were far, far more common – apparently even healing magic had limits. Duels were an unholy combination largely born from the Ancient Roman's gladiatorial fights, fused with a smattering of rules inspired by Medieval Europe's honor duels. A violent blood sport between two individuals that could also be used as a staging ground for conflicts between Noble Houses. Harry couldn't wait to watch one in person.

"I doubt you'll have to, but I'm the wrong person to ask," Harry responded, though he was personally quite taken with the idea of learning combative magic.

"It would probably piss my mum off if I learned some dark curses though," Lavender murmured, finger tapping on her chin rhythmically. "You want to learn curses with me?"

"We should probably start with more basic spells, yeah?" Harry asked, he absolutely loved the girl's logic but made no comment on it. He knew she had issues with her mother, but it seemed to govern more of her decision-making process than he initially suspected.

"I guess... do you think Hogwarts has places where we can practice curses? Daddy never talked about learning curses, but then again he is a Hufflepuff."

Harry didn't question the continued assault on Hufflepuffs, apparently that's just how it worked in the magical world. "I'd assume so, I mean, did you see the size of this bloody castle? God, I can't wait to have a look around."

**OoooOoooO**

_"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"_

_"Who's that shouting? That's the third time I've heard them."_

_"That'll be Black, lass. Rotten son of a bitch does that all the time. Shouts, rants, and raves about how he'll tear him apart with his teeth."_

_"Tear who apart?"_

_"Pettigrew."_

_"But Black already killed him!?"_

_"Welcome to Azkaban, Tonks. Most of the inmates here are crazy before they get locked up. Those that aren't crazy when they come in don't last long."_

_"And Black?"_

_"Your cousin is like your aunt. Both of them too mad, too far gone. They break the mold."_

_"They're not my family!"_

_"We all have family we hate, doesn't change the facts."_

_"I'm not claiming the two most infamous Death Eaters as my family, Mad-Eye."_

_"Heh, fair enough. Now, time to focus. Constant Vigilance! Dementors and scum are the only ones that call this place home, and we're marching straight into their nest."_

_"Wait, we don't need an escort or anything?"_

_"You're training to be an auror, Tonks. Aurors don't play by the same rules as everyone else. I filled up half of these cells by myself – I can damn well check on them without an escort."_

_"By yourself? Not even a part of a team?"_

_"I work better on my own most days. Now listen, once we're in there, don't cast a Patronus unless I tell you to."_

_"Ugh, another 'training exercise?'"_

_"Aye, you may know how to combat dementors, but can you handle their presence? When you're in the middle of a fight you won't have time to calmly muster up your courage and cast a Patronus. You'll already be in the thick of it, with a hooded demon from hell bearing down on you. I want you familiar with the affect dementors passively have, even beyond their rotten, soul-sucking desires."_

_"Wait, are we here for combat training?"_

_"Of course not! They may call me Mad, but throwing around spells in the vicinity of the monsters in here is just asking for a prison break. No one has ever escaped from this hell-hole before and I won't have us be the reason for the first one!"_

_"Yeah, that makes sense, but does that mean we're literally just here to walk around?"_

_"Walk around? Of course not! We're going to go sit in a cell for a few hours and I'm going to quiz you the entire time. Every question you get wrong is another five minutes of dodging practice in the Yard."_

_"Mad-Eye."_

_"Eh?"_

_"You're evil."_

_"You're the one that wanted me as a mentor, lass. Got Albus, Filius, and Pomona to sign that letter of recommendation and everything. Heh, I still can't say no to Pomona."_

_"That's a mental picture I didn't need, thanks."_

_"You'll get over being embarrassed or put off by uncomfortable topics and imagery soon enough. I'll teach you not to freeze up at the sign of entrails painting a wall, like hell I'm going to let you freeze up thanks to some old bastard's cock flying in the breeze."_

_"Please, like I haven't seen a cock before."_

_"You've never seen mine, and you certainly haven't seen Rowle's when its half melted and sprouting mushrooms."_

_"What kind of spell caused that?"_

_"A bloody good one."_

_"Well, I don't think I'd freeze up seeing that."_

_"Hah, I damn well hope not, but not freezing up isn't good enough. Just look at me – the thought of Rowle writhing on the ground helps me get to sleep on rainy nights when my leg is aching up a storm."_

_"There's no way that's a healthy mindset."_

_"Bah, like I give a damn. I'm still alive, aren't I? Rowle is rotting in this dungeon, no? Leave the niceties at the door, Tonks. Aurors don't have the time for them."_

**OoooOoooO**

Daniel was already sick of the stares. He had mentally prepared himself for them for a while now, well aware of the fact that his fame would never be something that he could take off or avoid, but they still annoyed him. No one in their right mind would want to be famous because they were orphaned, no one. If most of his current watchers had even an ounce of empathy, then they'd turn the other direction. If they used their brains, they'd realize that staring at someone because their parents died is a shitty thing to do. But stare they did – grin and bear it he would.

"You alright there?" Neville quietly asked from his place next to Daniel, both new Gryffindors were enjoying the many varieties of foods and drinks spread out upon the table.

"Yeah, just wish more of these people would eat rather than stare at me when they think I can't see."

"Could be worse, at least they're not shaking your hand anymore," Neville said before taking a bite of the generous helping of Beef Wellington on his plate.

Daniel chuckled to himself at the strange manner in which some of the Gryffindors had reacted to his sorting into the House. The loud, extra-long cheering was expected, but he would have never guessed that people would trip over themselves just to share their names and shake his hand. "Seriously though, what was up with that?"

"You think Harry had everyone do that to embarrass you?" Neville asked, his head subtly gesturing towards Daniel's wayward twin.

Daniel took a moment to consider his elder brother as he animatedly spoke with Ron and three girls, Brown, Dunbar, and Patil if he recalled correctly. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that it was theoretically possible that Harry was to blame... "Oh, it was probably him," Daniel said with a grin.

"You sure? Because I only said it as a joke..."

Neville was likely only half-serious in his attempts to cast more aspersions on Harry's character, but as amusing as it was to think about, Daniel doubted that Harry was genuinely at fault. Their brotherly instinct was not at the level that it could have been if they had been raised together, but Daniel still thought he had a decent understanding of how his elder twin operated at this point. Besides, if Harry had been at fault, he would have undoubtedly taken credit already.

"Alright, what about you lot – Potter, Longbottom?" The heavy, Irish accent of one Seamus Finnigan interrupted Daniel's vengeful but entertaining thoughts.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking about something and missed what you said," Daniel replied

The sandy haired teen leaned in close to Daniel. "Right, so myself, Dean, Sally, Trinity, and Rose here," Seamus paused to gesture to the glasses wearing brunette and apparent co-conspirator that had leaned in next to him, "we're all planning on doing something together after the feast."

"My sister just graduated last year," Rose chimed in, "and she said the Gryffindors always throw a party first night back, but it always ends up splintering off into a bunch of smaller parties in the dorms after a few hours."

"And you all want to meet up?" Daniel asked, guessing what his fellow Gryffindors were thinking.

"Right in one, Potter," Seamus remarked, tipping his drink towards Daniel. "Not every first year needs to be fast friends on the first night, but I figured this group here could get together since we're already sitting together and all." The heavily freckled teen set his cup down and leaned in once more, eyes alight with anticipation. "So, you guys in?"

Daniel's eyes flickered over to Rose and the slight grin she wore, a grin that only grew when he raised an eyebrow towards her. Daniel may not have been as experienced to the ways of the world as Harry, but he wasn't completely naive. Hell, he'd made a point of grabbing one of the comparatively newer and thus less expensive bottles of whiskey that his parents had stored away and getting drunk with Neville as they sat around a bonfire a few weeks back. Harry's teasing was all in good fun, and it was clearly Harry's way of trying to establish a bond between the two of them, but Daniel would not allow his elder twin to maintain the worldly lead he currently held, not for long anyway. That was part of why he was so excited to be in Gryffindor rather than Hufflepuff like the hat seemed to be considering.

Gryffindors had a well-deserved reputation for being a bit on the wild side compared to the students of other houses. The stories Daniel had heard about his father were unrivaled in terms of both hilarity and vulgarity. The young teen could admit that his perspective was a bit skewed given the fact that all four of his parents had been in Gryffindor and so stories about that House were the only ones he'd ever had the chance to hear, but based on the values of each House the reputation seemed to check out.

Before Daniel had a chance to agree to hang out with his new House mates, Neville beat him to the punch. "Yeah, we're in," the tall blonde said confidently.

Daniel was delightfully surprised that his adopted brother was as interested as he was in experiencing new things now that they were at Hogwarts. Given the way they were raised, Daniel had half expected him to be strait-laced and boring, but the daring side of Neville showed up more than the rules abiding one.

"Excellent," Seamus said, rubbing his hands together. "We've got no set plans or anything, but I'll tell you now that I raided my mother's stash of liquor when she wasn't looking. I've got a fair number of bottles stowed in my trunk, and I'm more than happy to share."

"Brilliant," Daniel said. "Classes don't start until Wednesday, so it's not like we have to worry about tomorrow."

"My thoughts exactly, little brother!" Harry declared, claiming the small, open space next to Neville. The grinning teen nodded across the table at their fellow first years whose attention he had just gained. "Trinity Lynn there, sweet girl, blonde hair - anyway, she happened to mention to Lav that there was a party that was happening later on tonight, and I came over here to make sure Daniel got the memo. Lo and behold, he not only beat me to the punch, but he even got invited to the after-party before I did. I admit, little brother, I'm impressed."

Harry was as theatrical as ever, and apparently right at home with the Gryffindors that all seemed to find his antics amusing. Daniel couldn't blame them, he did as well.

"Well, if you lot are in, that brings us up to twelve, that's a good number I think," Seamus said, extending a hand for Harry to shake. "The name's Seamus Finnegan, in case you missed it, and I think most people know you by now."

That was the understatement of the year. Daniel had heard all the whispers that followed his twin. The fact that Harry seemed to saunter everywhere he went certainly didn't help. Daniel couldn't tell if the guy was actually enjoying the attention or not, but by all appearances it fit him like a glove.

"My little brother casts quite the shadow, but I do alright," Harry said, taking the freckled teen's proffered hand. "Did I hear correctly that you're bringing the booze?"

"That's right, my mum won't be happy when she notices how much I took."

"And how much would that be?" Harry asked eagerly, his eyes alight with anticipation.

"Let's see," Seamus began counting on his fingers. "Three bottles of Ogden's, two bottles of Blishen's, not as good in my opinion but some prefer it. I've got one large bottle of red currant rum, a 12-pack of Simison's, two bottles of Daisyroot Draught, and to top it off a bottle of Bungbarrel Mead."

"Oh, well that should be more than enough," Harry said happily. "I'll get you some gold later, yeah?"

Seamus waved off his offer. "You can if you want to, but I don't expect it. Da' always said drinks are better shared anyway."

"Good man, but I'll get you some gold anyway, it's only fair." Harry rose from his seat. "If you all will excuse me, I'm going to return from whence I came and share the absolutely splendid news that tonight we will all be getting drunk. Cheers."

"Your brother seems like a good bloke, Potter," Seamus said with a laugh.

Daniel gave his retreating brother's back a sideways glance and shrugged. "He's not bad, I suppose."

"You two don't seem that close despite being twins," Rose chimed in, her head laying in her palm. "How come?"

"Ahhh," Daniel scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Let's just say that we didn't grow up together and leave it at that."

Rose grimaced. "Sensitive topic then, sorry. That's my bad." The girl looked genuinely embarrassed for asking.

"Don't worry about, no way you could've known." Daniel was certain that at some point he'd snap at someone for asking that question, but it would only happen after he'd been asked many, many times after he'd made it clear it wasn't a topic he wished to discuss. Well, that was assuming Harry wasn't going to be super blasé about the whole thing. Daniel doubted he would be though. He liked to give off the impression that he was casual and easy-going all the time, but Daniel saw a different side of him in the coffee shop that day. Harry had a lot of anger he needed to work through. Daniel knew he wasn't a saint, but he was self-aware of how he had personally accepted and moved beyond his family's tragedy. Though it was understandable why, Harry had not done so, not yet at least.

"Gotta say, Nev," Daniel said, turning towards Neville, "didn't expect you to be the one saying yes to a party. What happened to keeping me out of trouble?"

Neville looked slightly bashful, shrugging as he deliberately took a drink.

"C'mon Nev, out with it."

"Just wanted to have some fun before classes started," Neville mumbled. "We were invited, so I figured why not?"

"Hey, I don't disagree, I was going to say yes for both of us if you hadn't." Daniel lowered his voice and jokingly jostled Neville with his elbow. "You're not about to change your mind now that Harry is coming, right?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "No, and for the last time I don't hate him."

"Could've fooled me," Daniel said, grabbing another slice of treacle tart for himself. Dinner had been amazing, but nothing was better than treacle tart.

"I said he was a dick, not a bad person."

"You literally censured him on the train for stealing food."

"That's because stealing is wrong!" Neville said, seemingly amazed that he was being challenged on that point.

Daniel raised an eyebrow at his adopted brother. "Food, Nev. He said he was stealing food."

"I still think he was exaggerating. Mum and dad said he lived in a nice neighborhood with a nice woman. Do you think they would somehow miss out on there not being enough food in the house? Really?"

That was actually a fair point. Alice and Frank were both former aurors, a career path that demanded attention to detail and seeing beyond the surface. They wouldn't miss anything. Harry had never given the impression that he was malicious, but he was rather fond of hyperbole and flaunting rules, that much was obvious. "You think he'd lie like that?" Daniel asked.

"I'll put it this way, the only House I was positive he wouldn't be in was Hufflepuff," Neville said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder where the yellow and black clad students were gathered.

"Who's a liar?" Rose asked, reentering the conversation once more.

"Harry," Neville declared without fanfare. "Though, I do think that's a harsh label. I just think he's prone to exaggeration."

Rose's face contorted into a puzzled expression. "Isn't that the same thing as lying?"

Neville waved his hand in a so-so gesture. "By the literal definition, sure, but I think they give off different impressions."

"I don't claim to know the guy, but that wouldn't surprise me," Rose agreed.

Daniel still wasn't certain either way, but he decided it wasn't even worth the effort to think about. It was in the past regardless, and grilling Harry on the subject after it had been settled on the train was fruitless. Better to just leave it as water under the bridge, move on, and enjoy treacle tart.

Daniel was spared further conversation on the subject by Dumbledore rising to the stand. In a similar way to McGonagall earlier, everyone got quiet suspiciously quickly.

"Ahem – now that we are all sufficiently fed and watered, I have a few quick announcements before I release you all to your dorms."

Daniel smiled fondly at seeing the old man in his element. Over the years Daniel had met the man quite a few times. Dumbledore would always visit two or three times a year, check the status of the wards, but also just talk or offer a gift for Christmas or birthdays. Daniel wouldn't go so far as to call the man his grandfather or anything, but he definitely considered him a family friend. Plus, he knew for certain that Dumbledore had been instrumental in keeping he and his family alive both during and after the war. Details still eluded him, but the snippets of conversation he'd overheard from his parents clued him in to as much. Luckily, his parents had always referred to him by either his last name or as 'Professor' themselves, so no adjustment was needed in regards to what he should call the man.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "First of all, I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is true to its name and remains forbidden beyond the border. First years, I recommend that you avoid it entirely."

Daniel wasn't surprised about that rule. The Forbidden Forest was one of only three magical nature preserves in Britain. A positively massive forest with all manner of magical creatures and fauna hiding within. Dad had promised to take him and Neville camping in there once they were ready for it. Daniel was still looking forward to that.

"As a reminder, if you are interested in playing Quidditch you will need to consult Madam Hooch for the proper form, and then turn that into your respective head of House for details on tryouts."

Daniel was still disappointed that he would have to wait a year to pursue Quidditch, he absolutely loved the game. Even by his lonesome he'd been running seeker drills on the grounds since the moment he first flew. Apparently Quidditch was in his blood, and that was a legacy he intended to honor.

"And finally," Dumbledore said, his voice stern, "I must warn you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is off limits to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Daniel didn't have a death wish but even he was curious to see what was waiting within that corridor. The people in this castle that had the self-preservation instincts of a lemming didn't stand a chance. Merlin, did Harry stand a chance?

"Now, that is all from me," Dumbledore's voice was far more chipper than just seconds prior, "as usual the curfew tonight has been extended to eleven o'clock for those that wish to continue to enjoy the feast. There will be no roaming the corridors, but you may stay in the Great Hall and fraternize to your hearts' content should you so desire. Welcome back to Hogwarts!"

On cue most of the students rose to their feet and began heading off to their respective dormitories, with the odd few going out of their way to greet or join students from other Houses. Before Daniel even had a chance to wonder where he should be going, all the Gryffindor first years were rounded up by the two of the prefects, the youngest two if Daniel had to guess.

"All right everyone, listen up!" The blonde girl's voice carried pretty well, she was able to grab the attention of all forty or so Gryffindor first years without issue. "My name is Amira Barrett, and this is Percy Weasley, we're the fifth year prefects."

As if it was rehearsed, the guy, Percy, stepped forward the moment Amira stopped talking. "We will be guiding you to the dormitories today, and back down here to the Great Hall tomorrow morning at ten for any who wish to."

_I think Ron had mentioned that he had a brother named Percy, I bet this is him,_ Daniel thought idly. While the offer to guide the new students tomorrow morning was appreciated, Daniel seriously doubted he was going to attend. It was already fairly late, and apparently he was due for a long night with his new House mates. It was a safe bet that he'd be sleeping in.

"Fair warning," Amira continued, "the castle is difficult to navigate for even experienced students, for those who are new it borders on impossible."

Again, the tall, glasses-wearing redhead picked up right where his companion had left off. "There are shifting corridors, secret passageways, and moving staircases, all of which may or may not work depending on the day."

Percy and Amira were far too synchronized for this not to be rehearsed. Daniel respected the effort, but he honestly wasn't sure who they were trying to impress, the teachers had already left the Great Hall. Perhaps that was presumptuous of him though, Mum always seemed to know exactly what he and Neville were up to regardless of where she was in the house.

"I will be leading while Percy brings up the rear, so none of you will get lost tonight, but please try and pay attention. I promise that it will help you out in the coming weeks."

The Gryffindor first years dutifully followed after the attractive prefect as she led them through the halls. Their route took them upstairs, then downstairs, through two secret passageways, behind a tapestry, up some more stairs, down a number of large corridors, and then up some more stairs. Left down that corridor, right down another, and then two more rights. Again, they went up even more stairs that were apparently _only_ for going up, and a different set would be required to go down. Three more lefts followed by two rights, and then a final set of stairs and a landing. At the end of the landing stood a portrait of a very large woman lounging on a balcony, sipping wine in the breeze.

"How in the hell are we supposed to remember that?" Neville whispered to Daniel. "Seriously, how?"

"No clue," Daniel said, and he honestly meant it. All of the sudden that time his father had laughed when he said he would memorize all of Hogwarts made sense. This school was a bloody labyrinth.

"I know that journey was rather confusing," Percy declared, his voice carrying throughout the large chamber, "but I promise that it will get easier with time. Plus, if you have any questions you may ask not only the teachers and prefects, but any of the more helpful ghosts, paintings, and even suits of armor. I can't promise they'll always help you, but it doesn't hurt to try."

"This here," Amira said, drawing everyone's attention back towards her, "is the guardian of Gryffindor tower-"

"Oh, just call me the Fat Lady, dearies," the portrait of the woman said, interrupting Amira's introduction. "It's been my name for over two centuries so I'm rather fond of it at this point." The Fat Lady seemed like a fairly affable woman as far as Daniel could tell.

"Anways," Amira said somewhat tersely, apparently not fond of being interrupted, "the Fat Lady guards the entrance to our tower and will thus require a password to get inside. Fair warning, the password changes every week on Sunday, with new passwords posted on the announcements board inside the common room."

"Remember, dearies, no password, no entry. You'll be stuck outside until another Gryffindor comes along to let you in." Daniel recanted his opinion of the woman given how large her smile was when she spoke of locking people out. Further research was definitely required.

"The password this week is "Caput Draconis," Amira continued. "Oh, and do not share it with anyone outside of our House. Students from other Houses are allowed into our common room only if someone lets them in, understand?"

_The infamous House rivalry in action,_ Daniel mused. The bitter relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin was the most frequently discussed rivalry, but it was no secret that all of the Houses had their fair share of spats with one another. According to his parents the rivalry was barely noticeable on most days, but during the weeks and months when it flared up, things could get rather heated.

"I'm done for," Neville muttered.

Daniel cocked his head quizzically. "Huh, why?"

"Do you not remember?" Neville asked, somewhat surprised. "Back when we were seven, we turned the attic into our clubhouse, remember?"

"Oh, that's right!" Daniel exclaimed, following the slowly ambling crowd as they funneled into the opening from when the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. "We set a password to get in, but you forgot it immediately!"

Neville grimaced, nodding sadly. "You changed it after that, but I still forgot it almost immediately. By day four it had been changed six times and I couldn't remember it even once."

"You're right, you're done for."

"Surely I've gotten better about that? Right?" Neville asked nervously.

Daniel shook his head in the negative. "After only nine years? Not a chance."

The inside of the common room reminded Daniel of a very large, very well-furnished, multi-tiered and floored circular living room. There were red couches and chairs all around the room, most of them already occupied by the older students. Along the walls where there weren't large fireplaces or pillow laden bay windows hung portraits and tapestries aplenty. Scattered around the outskirts were dozens of small tables and chairs that Daniel imagined would be good places to study in the evenings – assuming Gryffindors studied, that is. The center of the room was dominated by an extremely large hearth that extended into the upper floors. Thanks to the various sources of fire around the room, the ambient light was just enough to read and study in without ever feeling too bright. Daniel loved it.

A large whistle sounded from the corner of the room where a surprisingly short, but clearly older student given his facial hair, stood atop the table. "Alright, now that the firsties have joined us, it's time for the real start of term announcements!"

_Oh, this should be good._

"For those of you who don't know me, my name is Ralphy Howard, prefect extraordinaire. No, I am not Head Boy, that honor belongs to a damn Puff this year."

Daniel was not prepared for the near universal booing that accompanied Ralphy's statement.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," the prefect dramatically clutched his chest. "If I had been Head Boy we could've gotten away with a lot more bull-shit."

That was not the direction Daniel expected that apology to turn. Hermione's scandalized face suggested that she too was surprised by this outcome

"Plus, I lost to a _Puff,_ at least Hallie only lost to a Ravenclaw."

_Do all Gryffindor's hate Hufflepuffs?_ Daniel wondered; a tad bit self-conscious of the fact that he himself was almost a 'Puff.'

"But hey," Ralphy continued, "we can't all be Bill Weasleys, now can we?"

The cheers that echoed throughout the room at the mention of another one of Ron's older brothers was surprising. The bloke had been very popular if this reaction was anything to go by. Daniel hadn't talked to Ron _that_ much, but he almost felt for the guy, that was quite the legacy to live up to.

"Here's to you, Bill, you beautiful bastard, you," Ralphy said, raising the bottle of whiskey that was suddenly in his hand skyward before taking a large swig. "Ah, and speaking of Weasleys, now that Charlie is no longer with us, Wood is our new Captain." Ralphy pointed to a tall, serious looking guy with a buzz-cut. "If you want on the team go through all the shit Dumbledore mentioned but also talk to Wood. He'll be arranging try-outs soon. Wood! What positions are we filling?"

"One chaser and a seeker as starters, reserves for the whole team," Wood called back. "Oh, and first years are allowed to try out for reserves. Get your name in early for next year. You won't play in games, of course, but you'll still be useful for scrims and drills."

"There you have it, kiddos!" Ralphy said, looking straight at the first years who were still largely congregated together.

Daniel quickly scanned the group to look for Harry and instead found him sitting halfway across the room on a couch alongside the same four people he'd spent the entire feast talking to. _How did he make it over there so quickly?_

"Next on this list is a fair warning to all you firsties – Professor Snape fucking hates us." Not a single person in the room laughed or jeered. "You may think that's an exaggeration, but it's not. Snape is the potion's professor, and he's going to make your lives hell. Oh sure, he grades fairly, but he's a sardonic ass that won't hesitate to insult you, your family, your dead cat – hell, even your neighbor's cousin isn't safe."

Daniel had heard mention of Severus Snape more than a few times in his life. The man had loathed his father, at one point been friends with his mother before that friendship eroded into ash. Daniel knew that he had fought for their side during the war against Voldemort, but his dad said that he was still a piece of work. Apparently, nothing had changed.

"General stuff that honestly everyone could use a reminder on: NO duels in the common room. Take that shit to the corridor outside or I will personally have Hallie beat your ass into next week, and we all know she can."

Hallie's smug face and the odd shudder of fear from the other students was confirmation enough for Daniel to believe the girl was not worth pissing off. Ever.

Ralphy pointed to all the couches and chairs. "Older students get priority seating. No one cares that it's not fair to the younger students - deal with it, that's what the rest of us have done. What else, hm?" Ralphy paused and bent down so Billie could speak into his ear. "That's right! Thank you, Hallie! This is for everyone – do not, I repeat, DO NOT bring any weird or dangerous creatures into the common room! A few years back some asshole decided to try and raise some Horklumps in here. Those little mushroom shits ended up releasing spores that stank up the common room for weeks! So, don't bring in anything weird! Owls, cats, and if you have one for some ungodly reason, toads, I guess. Otherwise, keep the damn creatures out! Capisce? Good."

That rule was more than fine for Daniel. While he didn't dislike most pets, he also wasn't the biggest animal person. He had his owl, Hedwig, and she was perfect for him.

"Oh, one more thing for you all to note," Ralphy said, holding up his index finger, the fact that the bottle of whiskey was in the same hand certainly added to the imagery. "The House Cup… here in Gryffindor, we really don't care about it. No seriously, we don't. Gryffindor hasn't won that blasted thing in the last seventeen years, and I doubt that's going to change just because it's 1991. As nice as benefits like the later curfew, special bathhouses, extra feasts, and priority quidditch pitch access are, well…" Ralphy paused for dramatic effect, "they're not worth kissing ass for an entire year!"

Ralphy's words were punctuated by a large cheer from the rest of the House, music was immediately blared from an unknown source, and drinks suddenly started being poured. Ralphy continued shouting even over the loud music. "REMEMBER, KIDS – DON'T EMBARRASS THE HOUSE AND WELCOME TO GRYFFINDOR!"

As Daniel let himself get pulled along by Rose into a whirlwind of drinking, talking, and even some dancing, he knew that he was going to love his time at Hogwarts.

**OoooOoooO**

_"Hey, Remus. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me."_

_"I only agreed because I knew your boys would already be at Hogwarts."_

_"You still don't want to see either of them? Even after all these years?"_

_"No, Alice, I don't. Not after failing him like I did."_

_"Self-pity never was a good look on you, Remus."_

_"Spare me your spiel, we both know I've heard it a dozen times."_

_"Then do something about it, damn it!"_

_". . . Why'd you want to see me, Alice?"_

_"I wanted to ask you to meet with the boys."_

_"No."_

_"Will you at least hear me out? Please? This isn't about me, hell, it's barely even about Daniel."_

_"Harry?"_

_"Yes."_

_"What about him? He should've started Hogwarts this year without issue. What happened to him?"_

_"He's fine, Remus, he's fine. Perfectly healthy, just some emotional scars to deal with."_

_"If his life isn't in danger then I'm not seeing him, Alice."_

_"Even if he hates Frank and I?"_

_"What?"_

_"Well, hate may be a strong word, but he's not fond of us. I don't know what I expected him to feel towards me, but it's clear he doesn't trust me at all."_

_". . ."_

_"Anyway, this isn't about me. What I wanted to ask you was if you'd speak with him about James, tell him stories of your Hogwarts days."_

_"You were friends with James too, I'm sure you can share plenty."_

_"Remus, please. I was friends with James, but you were his brother."_

_"Why ask now, and why just for Harry?"_

_"I've asked you to apart of Daniel's life plenty of times, Remus."_

_"Don't deflect. I mean this specific reason, at this specific time. Why?"_

_"Because Harry reminds me of James. Don't get me wrong, I see James in Daniel too, especially his looks, but with Harry it's different. His approach to life, his humor, the way he sees everything around him as another way to have fun."_

_"Yeah… that sounds like James."_

_"Harry is rougher around the edges than James ever was, but he's also less spoiled."_

_". . ."_

_"He only agreed to meet me in person once, and he spent a good portion of that meeting furious at me, but since then we've been exchanging letters. I just thought it'd be good for him if you'd do the same. It'd be good for both of you, actually."_

_"If Harry is loath to speak with you, why would he speak with me? I never even made an attempt to be in his life."_

_"Because technically, you didn't have an obligation to."_

_"THE HELL I DIDN'T!"_

_"Remus…"_

_"Fuck… I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll go."_

_"Damn it, Remus, sit back down! Now!"_

_"Look, Remus, I think Harry blames me more than anyone else. I was the only person who betrayed the job his parents entrusted unto me. Okay? I'm not saying he'll be immediately thrilled to meet you, but-"_

_"Do you know what Daniel and Harry called me shortly after they turned one? Do you? They called me 'unc Rem.' Never even tried to teach them my full name, and Lily ran with Rem. They almost had uncle down, and a few weeks after their birthday they called me 'unc Rem.' No prompting or encouragement was needed. They just recognized me when I walked in while they were all eating dinner."_

_"Oh, Remus…"_

_"Don't… don't ever tell me I didn't have an obligation to those boys! Don't! I had one! I had one, and I failed! A werewolf could never raise a child, I know that. But a werewolf should've been able to sniff out a traitor! I should've been able to murder that son of a bitch before he ever had the chance to betray them! I should've protected them… all of them."_

_"It's not too late to protect them, you know?"_

_"Yes, I know…"_

**OoooOoooO**

Harry wasn't sure it was possible to have a better first night at Hogwarts than what he'd experienced so far. The feast had started strong when he quickly befriended Parvati and Fay alongside his already budding friendships with Ron and Lavender. Then, the night got even better when he learned that not only were Gryffindors even more wild and carefree than he'd expected, but that they threw great parties with lots of free liquor! Hours had passed since the glorious party first began, and Harry had since moved onto what he jokingly dubbed 'the after party' with a group of fellow sixteen-year old students.

Harry, Ron, Lavender, Parvati, Fay, Dean, Seamus, Trinity, and much to Harry's surprise, _Hermione_ had all gathered into Dean and Seamus' twin room. Daniel was originally supposed to join them, but the last time Harry had seen his little brother he was being straddled by some bird as they snogged. Harry enjoyed tormenting his younger twin, but not even he was cruel enough to try and interrupt a lovely experience like that. As for Neville, last he'd seen of the poor bloke was when he was passed out on the floor missing his shirt and one pant leg. Harry was kind enough to grab him a pillow before he went upstairs.

Of the missing individuals, Neville was for sure the one who was going to regret passing out early the most. After congregating in the room, finding a nice wizarding wireless to turn on, and opening a few of the bottles so generously provided by Seamus – Parvati, bless the girl, had suggested a game of truth or dare. Harry hadn't been that surprised to find that the infamous party game had made its way into wizarding society; and after thinking about it for a second, he wasn't surprised that Parvati was the one to suggest playing it either.

The game had started off innocent enough, but as more drinks were had, the more the stakes were raised. Harry was honestly rather pleased with the results. Dean, after performing a lap dance for first Trinity then Ron, was dared to wear _nothing_ but Lavender's skirt for the rest of the evening. Over the course of a few dares, Lavender, after losing her skirt, proceeded to lose the rest of her clothes including her bra, snogged Fay, Ron, and Harry, then gave Seamus a hand-job in private. Upon their return, Harry had never seen a bloke look so happy in all his life. Ron was shirtless and had successfully played with both Parvati's tits and Fay's ass. Trinity got fingered by Dean, and based on the noises the guy certainly knew what he was doing. Fay, who was wearing nothing but her knickers, had been dared to sit in Seamus' lap for the rest of the evening when he too was down to nothing but his small clothes. Parvati performed a striptease for everyone – a routine she seemed quite well practiced in. Harry was down to nothing but his shorts and Lavender's tie, surprisingly enough. Personally, his most risqué dare involved sporting a hard-on in front of everybody, generously fluffed by none other than Trinity. Harry was rather content with that dare, it felt good and he had no shame.

There had been other, more varied dares as well. Harry did a shot from Fay's bellybutton, Seamus was dared to kiss Dean, Ron and Trinity had to go retrieve something from the common room after stripping down, Lavender and Harry had to smack the ass of everybody in the room. The list was both long and enjoyable for all. By the time things were finished, they were just a bunch of drunk, horny teenagers seeing how far they could push each other. Well, everyone except for Hermione. Harry had to give her credit where it was due, she was a better sport than he was anticipating. Hell, when he'd first found her after the party began, she'd been adamantly against even taking a single drink. A bit of peer pressure later and she was at least willing to try a single glass; and as the night went on, she was progressively more comfortable with upping the ante. Though it took a fair bit of time, eventually the normally stuck-up girl was as intoxicated as the rest of them. When it was her turn in the game once more, she surprised everyone by choosing 'dare' for the first time. Lavender, bless her, assumed it was their one and only chance so she went for broke and dared Hermione to strip completely naked. No one who had met the girl could believe it when she actually did so. Accompanied by the raucous cheers of all present, Hermione Granger ducked under the covers and slowly threw out _every_ single article of clothing she had once been wearing. No one saw an ounce of skin beyond her very, very flushed face, but Harry still considered it one of the highlights of the evening.

Harry smiled fondly at the many memories the night had spawned and took a drink of Daisyroot Draught, his cigarette held off to the side. The fruity liquor was, much to his surprise, not overly sweet and thus very good straight. Cigarette once more held in his mouth; he fell backwards onto his bed, utterly unconcerned where the majority of his clothes had vanished to. His pants he kept close at hand though, he couldn't risk losing his smokes. The game between the teens had long since come to a close: Ron, Seamus, and Fay were all passed out on the bed together in various states of undress. Hermione had taken her bedspread laden self and snuck off to her room. Dean and Trinity had snuck off to someplace private together. That just left Lavender, Parvati, and himself still in the room.

Almost as if on queue both girls fell onto the bed on either side of him. Harry definitely did not have the most discerning eye at that moment, but he could swear that Parvati was wearing his shirt while Lavender had his robe… "You mind?" Lavender asked, removing the cigarette from Harry's mouth and sticking it in her own before he could say anything.

The expected cough and sputter never came. "You've smoked before," Harry accused.

"Mhm," Lavender nodded, exhaling a cloud of exotic smoke. "Daddy smokes pipes, I figured it was the same thing."

"You're not wrong," Harry mumbled, sitting up and reaching off the bed to retrieve his wand and preferred brand of cigarettes. "Want one?" He asked, extending the open packet towards the rather languid Parvati laying on her side.

"Sure, why not?" She craned her head forward and let Harry place it in her mouth.

"Breathe it in slowly, let it rest at the back of your throat a bit, then inhale," He warned. As amusing as it could be to see people coughing because of their first cigarette, he had seen it enough that he didn't really care to see it anymore. With an already well practiced movement Harry had both his and Parvati's smokes lit in a flash before he fell back into his previous spot as if he'd never budged an inch.

For a few minutes no one said a word. The silence wasn't awkward at all, the wizarding wireless was playing a cover of Phil Collins' Against All Odds, and the trio was content to enjoy their smokes. Harry idly took notice of the fact that the girls were communicating without actually saying a word, but he didn't even try to translate it – if it concerned him then he'd figure it out later.

"Ugh, fine," Lavender suddenly whined. She swung her legs off the bed and shakily stood up. "Ah, fuck."

"You good?" Harry asked, concerned that his new friend was about to faceplant the floor. The only reply being a thumbs up was not the most reassuring of gestures.

"For Merlin's sake, lay down and sleep here, Lav," Parvati said, patting the bed. "Don't worry, we'll leave."

Harry raised a single eyebrow. "Oh? We will?" Smoke gently poured from his mouth as he turned to look at the girl named after the Hindu goddess of beauty.

"Yes, we will," she teased, one of her hands reaching forward to ghost over his clothed crotch.

Well, Harry certainly wasn't the type of guy that would argue with an invitation like that. He winked at Parvati and then rolled over towards Lavender. "Hey," he said, pulling the drunken girl towards the bed. "Rest here, you've got the bed all to yourself."

"All for me?" Lavender asked cutely as snuggled into the sheets.

"All yours."

"Mkay, night Harry, have fun…" The girl's eyes were closed after the first word.

Harry rose from the bed and took Parvati's hand to lead the girl back to the room that had been marked as his and Ron's. How the rooms had been divided he still wasn't sure, but that was a question for another, more sober occasion. The sound of music, laughter, and even dancing still echoed from the common room proper.

The two hadn't yet made it back to the room when Parvati's hand circled the back of his neck and pulled his head down into a rough, fevered kiss. Their lips met as Harry's hand instinctively fell to the girl's toned hips. Harry shifted away from the kiss, his lips trailing along her jaw until he was able to whisper in her ear. "Just couldn't wait until we were someplace, private, huh?" His voice, rougher than normal, made Parvati shiver as her hands dragged down his chest, nails leaving a soft, white marks in their wake. Harry sealed her mouth with his, her answer turning into a moan as his tongue swirled around hers. She tasted like red currant rum and the smoke he was oh so familiar with. He wasn't sure he'd ever associate with her anything else.

Harry shifted his hand across the smooth skin of her naked thighs, slowly forcing the girl backwards until her body was flush against the wooden door – his wooden door if his hazed mind could be believed. Their lips met again, tongues dancing wildly as they sucked and explored each other's mouths. Harry pressed his leg in between Parvati's, his knee's gentle rubbing drawing out a gasp from the dark-skinned beauty. He hummed contentedly. "You know, if I didn't know any better," he whispered huskily, his fingers playing with the hem of her panties, "I'd think you wanted to stay out here and let someone find us."

Parvati's breath hitched as she kissed her way down his neck, fingers tangled in his hair. "Maybe," she laughed, trailing kisses onto his collarbone. "Thoughts on giving everyone a free show?"

"Lucky them." Harry brought one of his hands up to pinch Parvati's hardened nipples as they poked through _his_ shirt.

Parvati reached down and under the elastic hem of his boxers. Harry let out a throaty moan as her lithe fingers gripped his cock. She ceased nibbling on his neck to smile up at him, "lucky me, I think…"

Harry maneuvered himself so he could open the door, their wands and his cigarettes were tossed onto the nearest table, but neither of them took a step inside. Parvati rotated in his arms, her grip never slackening for a single second. Slowly, but ever so enticingly, she rubbed her hand up and down his length. "Tease," he murmured as he kissed her neck from behind, her arms stretching upward to grip his hair. Her soft touches set his nerves on fire – he _craved_ more of her. He could only imagine the self-satisfied smile she had on her face, likely the same one she wore during her dance earlier when he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

Harry snaked his hand down the front of Parvati's panties, her own grip on his cock tightening as his fingers met her slick folds. "So wet already," he teased, her body writhing against his as he rubbed circles around her clit, always so tantalizingly close but never giving her the stimulation she craved. Without warning he plunged two fingers inside her, making her entire body shudder as small, breathy sounds escaped her mouth. His other hand rose and roughly gripped her breasts through the white oxford, his thumb and forefinger pinching her hardened nipples, eliciting a pleasure filled moan that Harry was certain could be heard downstairs.

Parvati rolled her hips so that she was in time with his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out of her cunt. "Oh – oh – right there – _fuck!_ " His own pleasure was completely forgotten as she gave in to his attention but that was fine with him, he _loved_ making girls squirm under his touch. He worked his fingers inside her, first one, then two, exploring her and eliciting sounds that he adored. She arched against him, both hands gripping either side of the doorway for support as his fingers continued to draw out moans that were slowly rising in volume. Harry didn't stop, his fingers moving in concert to pleasure the girl. "I'm – I'm so close," she gasped, her panting making her words nigh unintelligible.

Though Parvati could not see it, Harry smirked and curled his fingers ever so slightly, hitting that oh-so sensitive spot perfectly, and roughly pinching her already sensitive nipple. "Cum for me," he whispered huskily as his thumb rubbed circles over her clit. That was all that was needed to push her over the edge, Parvati cried out louder than ever as an orgasm washed over her. Breathless and shaking, her legs would have given out entirely were it not for Harry's arms stopping her from tumbling forwards into the ground. Harry removed his wet fingers and brought them up near Parvati's face. With almost no prompting the girl began to eagerly suck on them, tasting herself as she leaned back into his chest. "Good girl," his voice low as he spoke into her ear. Harry slowly pulled his hand away, her tongue swirling around his fingers until the last possible moment. Both of them stopped for a few seconds, breathing heavily as they enjoyed the sensations of their half-naked bodies pressed against one another. "You were loud," Harry accused, a smile playing at his lips.

"And whose fault is that?" She countered. They both chuckled quietly, his arms still wrapped around her bare skin. Parvati then turned around and gently pressed her slightly swollen lips onto his. Their kiss was intimate and passionate – born from hormones and the usual feelings of affection that often followed sexual activities.

They pulled away from each other and Harry's breath almost caught in his throat. Parvati's black hair framed her flushed face, a light sheen of sweat glossing her dark skin. Her lips were parted, brown eyes intense as she looked up at him… "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

"I know…" Parvati smirked at him, gently biting her bottom lip just as she had when they introduced themselves. She took him by the hand and pulled him into his room; the door closed behind them, and just like that they were alone in the low light – the lit furnace near one of the walls casting a warm glow that added to the light shining through the window from the moon and stars. "Sit," she said, nodding towards the bed, her eyes alight with lust and desire. Harry finally removed the tie from around his neck, tossing it into the corner of the room as he sat on the edge of the firm mattress. "Now, watch me." Perfectly manicured nails flashed in the low light as Parvati deftly unbuttoned the white oxford she'd stolen from him, her hips swaying to music only she could hear, but Harry was enraptured all the same. The dance was slow and exotic, every movement of her body controlled even as her fingers continued playing with the buttons. Upon finishing she slowed her movements, allowing the shirt to rest open as it hung from her shoulders. The edge of the cloth barely concealed that which he'd already seen but so desperately craved to view once more. In an almost graceful fashion Parvati rolled her shoulders; the white shirt fell to the ground and her breasts were bared to him and him alone. She stepped forward, breasts gently swaying as her hands reached out to cup his face. When compared to such an intimate position, his earlier view during the game of truth or dare was practically worthless.

Parvati kissed the corner of his mouth, the underside of his jaw, his chest, his abs, her mouth connecting with every part of him as she slowly sunk to the floor. Her fingers gently traced all over his body, making him shiver under touches that might have made him laugh were it not so damn sexy. Parvati lowered herself until her face hovered in front of the bulge in his boxers; her warm breath the only sensation before she brushed her cheek against the cloth. "Mmm, is this all for me?" She teased, smiling up at him as she hooked her fingers in the hem of his final piece of clothing. Harry raised his hips as the girl slowly pulled down his boxers, freeing him from confinement. She took his cock in one hand, rubbing up and down his length a few times as she slowly brought it closer to her face. "My turn, Harry." He was wholly unprepared as Parvati soft lips enveloped his cock as she took him in her mouth. More and more the girl took until her nose was brushing against his neatly groomed hair.

"Goddamn – Parvati!" All of the air left his lungs when he moaned; hands gripping the sheets as it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to avoid cumming so quickly. He had not been prepared for the incredible sensations of her sucking him off, her tongue swirling around his length as his tip prodded the back of her throat. She was ruthless, sucking him harder and harder, one hand gently cradling his balls as the other dug into his thigh, her nails leaving marks that were not going to quickly fade. "Ah – fuck!" Parvati was relentless, knowing he was on the verge of climaxing just made her suck even harder. Harry was finally pushed over the edge when she looked up from her task and made eye contact with him, humming contentedly around his cock just as he grasped her hair. Every muscle in his body seized as he came into the back of the girl's throat – he moaned heavily as her ministrations barely slowed. Each time she swallowed his fingers became further entangled in her hair, his deep breaths doing nothing to stifle the almost unbearable pleasure. Muffled moans escaped Parvati's occupied lips as she withdrew at an agonizingly slow pace, Harry's sensitive cock still semi-firm in her mouth. She stopped at his tip, licking and sucking until she was satisfied that every last drop of cum was in her mouth.

Harry didn't move as descended from the orgasmic high he had been brought to. He was propped up on one elbow as his other hand rested on the side of Parvati's face. Their eyes met and though he knew it was purely chemical, he shifted his hand slightly before gently pulling her towards him. Their lips met and he claimed her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss; he could still taste the remnants of his own cum on her tongue but he didn't care – it wasn't the first time he'd tasted himself and it wouldn't be the last. Harry leaned back, his other hand rising to cup Parvati's face as she climbed on top of him. He sucked on her tongue the moment it entered his mouth, her surprised but pleasure filled moans causing his blood to rush south once more. Parvati began gyrating her hips, her wet, panty clad cunt rubbing against his rapidly hardening cock. "Someone's ready to go again," her giggles turned into gasps as Harry's mouth latched onto her breasts – her hardened nipples easy prey for his tongue. "Harry…" She moaned, reaching down to move her panties to the side but she was stopped before she could do so.

"No no, let me," Harry murmured. Parvati ended up on her hands and knees as he extricated himself out from underneath her. The dark-skinned beauty raised her ass higher in the air, head resting on her crossed arms – fully presenting herself to him and his wicked intent. Harry ran his hands along her shapely ass before lightly smacking it. Parvati's squeal of pleasure told him _exactly_ how the girl felt about spanking; a fact he'd have to remember for later, but for now he had other intentions. "My turn," he said, quoting her earlier words. Slowly, he peeled the dampened panties back, revealing all of Parvati to his lust filled eyes. He stared at her hungrily, his fingers teasing the edges of her slickened flesh.

Harry went straight in, licking a long line across the folds of her cunt. The angle was awkward, but he stuck his tongue deep inside trying to taste every inch of her, his hands gripping her thighs. Parvati gasped as his tongue danced inside her, but that wasn't enough for him; he was experienced enough in giving oral that he knew what he was doing and how to make it feel good, but he wanted Parvati _begging_ for more. "Roll over," he said, leaning back as she rotated on the bed, taking the time to finish removing her panties from where they hung stretched between her legs. Parvati lay there, hair splayed about, groping her own breasts as she spread her legs wide – Harry viewed that as an invitation and obliged the girl, diving back in with an unmatched fervor.

Parvati's legs were draped over his shoulders; heels pressing into his back, urging him to melt further into her. Her soft thighs tightened around him the moment he flicked his tongue across her swollen clit, his fingers taking over inside her cunt. She panted and moaned, her fingers wounding their way into his hair and her nails massaging his scalp as she ground her hips against him. Harry didn’t stop fingering the panting girl, at that moment she was at his tender mercies, and he wasn’t keen on seeing it stop. Occasionally he changed the rhythm of his fingers, surprising the girl with a sudden shock of pleasure when he slowed but immediately shoved into her harder. Her moans were music to his ears. When he eventually decided to give the girl exactly what she wanted, he sealed his mouth over her clit right as he suddenly angled his fingers upward. "Harry!" She cried, furiously pinching her own nipples as her body was wracked with pleasure. Harry _relished_ the sound of her moaning his name as he brought her to the heights of pleasure – he'd rarely found anything that could match the satisfaction he felt at that moment. Parvati fell backwards, eyes closed as she tried to regain her breath. "Merlin, Harry… I should thank the girl that taught you how to do _that._ "

Smirking at the compliment, Harry caressed her thighs, delighting in every silken touch. "That's not all she taught me." Harry rose to his knees, eyes riveted on Parvati as she lay atop the sheets, her full body on display for him. The perfect shape of her body, the measured rise and fall of her breasts from her breathing, the light sheen from his own efforts coating the inside of her thighs – using the juices left on his fingers, Harry couldn't help but slowly stroke himself as he gazed down upon the girl whose namesake was the goddess of beauty.

"So hot…" Parvati whispered, her fingers slowly rubbing circles over her clit. "God, I want you inside me."

"Contraceptive spells," Harry murmured, his mind almost in a haze as he stepped off the bed to retrieve their wands from where they had been discarded. Parvati's wand felt alien in his hand, but he paid it little mind. After passing over her wand they each cast their respective sex's contraceptive charm on their abdomens. Harry hoped she was also on the potion, or at least more practiced with her charm than he was with his; this was his first time truly testing the spell, after all.

"Fuck me, Harry. Now. Just come over here and fuck me, _please_." Parvati's desperate, needy plea pushed Harry over the edge. In an instant he was on top of her, thrusting his entire length inside of her slick cunt in a single go. She was _so_ warm and wet; at that moment his thoughts became numb to everything but _her._ Without pause Harry pulled back and slammed into her again, burying himself within her once more. Her raised leg quickly found a place on his shoulder as his other hand grasped at her tit. Again and again he hilted himself inside her, her own hips matching his rhythm perfectly as she met every thrust. "Oh – fuck – fuck!" She moaned, her hands almost tearing the bedspread as he pressed down into her. Parvati lifted her head and eagerly smashed her lips into his in a rough, almost violent kiss. She bit his bottom lip to the point where he could almost taste blood as their bodies smashed into one another. Harry moaned into her mouth and squeezed her breast, certain that it would be bruised come morning, causing Parvati to let out a moan that bordered on a shriek.

Parvati was relentless, every movement of her hips causing her to clench around him, begging him to release, but it was far too soon. Pleasure and the desire, no, the _need_ to make her finish first consumed him. Parvati shifted, both of her legs locking behind his back as she pulled him further inside. Harry's hands, firm on the mattress next to either side of her head, the only things stopping him from falling on top of her. Her nails clawed at his shoulders and back, leaving deep, red scratches as he thrust himself deeper than he had yet. "God – Parvati," he groaned through gritted teeth.

Parvati pulled his head down, nibbling at his jawline. "Harder!" She whispered coarsely, her breathing ragged and strained. "Fuck me harder!" Harry increased his pace, pounding her into the mattress with everything he had as she moved quicker to match him. Their increased intensity slammed the bed into the wall with every thrust, Harry hoped for his neighbor's sake that there were silencing charms on the walls, but nothing was going to make him slow down at this point. Parvati's constant moans had reached a feverish pitch as he _fucked_ her exactly as she wanted. "You better – cum inside," she said, somehow able to tell that he was close. Harry bit her neck, loving how she tightened around his cock the moment his teeth met her soft flesh. The way she constantly throbbed around him was on the verge of being too much to handle. The pleasant tension slowly built within him, begging for release more and more with each passing second. He snaked his hand down her body and began to torment the most sensitive areas of her slickened body.

Harry rubbed her clit and Parvati _screamed_ , completely breaking apart as her body tensed, her nails digging into his back even as she threw her head back. Her cunt gripped him like a vice, every pulse of pleasure causing her to clench around him. Even as she stopped thrusting, Harry continued slamming into her, desperately trying to draw out her wails and orgasm alike. He'd reached his limit though, and with a satisfied moan he finally came, his cock buried deep within her cunt as he loomed over top of her. Parvati whimpered as she involuntarily tightened around him, the warmth of his release providing that last extra bit of stimulation.

Harry held himself up on his forearms, his head bent forward and resting against her shoulder. With a small heave he pushed himself off of her, laying on the bed directly parallel to the nearly breathless girl – not that he could judge, he was still completely winded himself. Parvati rolled over, turning his arm into a pillow as their legs became entangled. Brown eyes met green and she began to giggle. Harry raised an eyebrow, both amused and confused at the sudden bout of laughter from the nude girl. "I was that bad, huh?" Harry teased. Once upon a time he'd asked that question genuinely scared of the answer, but those days were but a distant memory.

"Oh, please, we both know you weren't," Parvati assuaged his non-existent anxiety as her fingers idly traced his build. "I'm just laughing at my family's reaction if they knew I'd shagged one of the first guys I met on my first night in the castle."

"Furious I take it?" Harry asked as he rose from the bed.

Parvati watched him as he lit his cigarette with the ease of a long habit. "My dad would be mad, but mum would only be 'disappointed.'"

Harry savored the pleasant warmth at the back of his throat as he climbed back into the bed. "And your sister?"

A wicked grin rose to her face. "Once I give her the details… _jealous._ "

Harry laughed as a surged of confidence welled within him – whether it was the lingering alcohol in his system, the bliss from good sex, or just his slowly rising ego he wasn't sure. "Tell her that if she's interested, she knows where to find me."

"Did you _really_ just offer to fuck my sister while I'm still naked in your bed?" Parvati asked, utterly amazed.

Harry exhaled a puff of smoke as he offered her a cigarette. "Maybe."

"You're incorrigible." The cigarette was plucked from his hands.

"You like it."

"Maybe," Parvati laughed, the fag in her hand outstretched as she propped herself up on the pillows, "now light this thing already."

Harry obliged the girl via his favorite and most practiced spell. " _Flamma Vus_ ," he said. One of his favorite aesthetics was a naked girl smoking in bed. It was an experience he considered himself fortunate enough to have seen multiple times in person, and it was no different with Parvati. Even with her admittedly novice technique with smoking, he couldn't take his eyes off her.

She exhaled a large cloud. "Seriously, why do I keep saying yes to these things they taste awful?"

"Because they go excellently with sex and alcohol."

"I guess," Parvati said, the fag rising to her lips. "I'll pass on the booze though. I'd actually like to be able to wake up tomorrow."

"Probably smart," Harry murmured, "I hope that doesn't mean you plan on going to sleep soon though?" This was the first time he'd gotten laid in months; he really didn't want it to end so quickly.

"And miss out on another round of that?" Parvati scoffed as she rolled over, now perpendicular to him with her head resting on his chest. "We're going to start round two as soon as you're ready."

Harry basked in the praise. "You sure know how to stroke a guy's ego, huh?"

Parvati tilted her head, smiling up at him. "I'm not about to lie and say that wasn't the best sex I've had, but don't let it go to your head – you're the only guy to have actually made me cum, so my standards aren't that high."

"Duly noted," Harry said, internally allowing the compliment to indeed go to his head. "But come on, you can't blame me for being a bit proud after hearing that?" He blew a stream of smoke off to the side and away from her face, making a mental note to look up scent defusal spells soon, Ron probably wouldn't appreciate their shared room smelling like smoke all the time – or sex for that matter.

Parvati tapped her chin in thought, "alright, that's fair, but you have to keep that level of performance up until we both pass out. Deal?"

"Deal."

Harry wasn't sure what time it was when they both fell asleep, but he made damn sure that he kept up his end of the bargain.


End file.
